Unfamiliar territory
by Thegirlwiththekey
Summary: Sherlock and Joan enter unfamiliar territory in their professional relationship. Has a line been crossed?
1. Chapter 1

He awoke to unfamiliar surroundings. Sherlock waited for his eyes to focus and his mind to return from the world of sleep it had fallen into. Slowly all of his senses came back to him. The pillows beneath his head were soft and feathery- not what he was used to. The wardrobe opposite him was not his own and was that- perfume he could smell? A memory steam rolled out of the slumber induced dark in his mind. This was Joan's room. That was Joan's perfume he could smell and it was her duck feathered pillows beneath his head. He sat up with a jolt and turned his head slowly to the left. Joan Watson was asleep on the pillow next to his, facing the other way. He watched the duvet rise and fall slowly with her breathing. Daring to peek under the duvet he saw that he was indeed naked and judging by her bare back, so was she. Sherlock slipped out of the bed and patted towards the door-which was already open and turning back he saw a pile of hastily removed clothes, some his and some not his. He sorted through and picked out those that belonged to him. Within minutes he had put them on and was on his way to the police station to meet Captain Gregson.

"Where's your handler?" Gregson joked when he saw that Sherlock was alone.

"She doesn't follow me everywhere you know!" Sherlock retorted. He brushed past Gregson to reach the files on the Captain's desk. Was that _perfume_ he could smell on Sherlock? Gregson stared bemused at Sherlock's turned back. Perhaps Joan had attempted to freshen the home they shared and the feminine touches had brushed off on Sherlock in more ways than one. Gregson considered how the old the old Sherlock would have reacted if he had found out he smelled like a woman- he would probably just laugh it off now. Gregson's train of thought was interrupted by Sherlock's phone going off. He rummaged in his pockets and retrieved it, placing the files back on the desk. They were all dull, not enough to distract Sherlock as much as he wanted distracting. The message was from Joan.

'Come back, I'm not mad.'

Sherlock considered the message for a few moments before heading to the door, he gripped the handle and the metal blinds covering the window rattled. Gregson spoke with a hint of irritation.

"You've only just got here!"

"All dull, you can solve them all without me, I have other things to be doing."

Gregson wasn't sure how to take the back-handed compliment, but whilst he thought of a response, Sherlock had opened the door and was striding out of the station much to the bemusement of the officers who had seen him enter just a few minutes earlier. Gregson pinched the top of his nose in a stereotypical sign of stress and sighed. He picked up a file and began to read.


	2. Chapter 2

Joan was mad.

She had been woken by the light streaming through the window. Strange- the curtains had not been closed. Slowly she opened her eyes and realised that her head felt fuzzy. As she sat up she also realised that she felt violently sick and upon running to the bathroom she was indeed, violently sick. She returned to her bedroom and sat tentatively on the edge of her bed and tried desperately to remember the previous night. Joan glanced around the room for evidence. Her clothes were strewn and dishevelled. She looked at the pillow next to her. It had a large indent, more so than she would usually cause. And why had she gone to bed naked? Sherlock's tendency to appear in her room unannounced meant that she always made sure she was clothed in bed. Confused but feeling too ill to consider anymore she got up and pulled on some old clothes that she used for pyjamas and went downstairs.

Her coat and scarf were on the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen and there were two empty wine bottles on the table. More significantly there was only one glass. That explained her fuzzy head she thought, cursing. Joan walked towards the kettle to make tea to soothe her sickness. All of the implements had been knocked over. Sugar and coffee were strewn everywhere and mugs lay upturned. Oh, that must have been when...

And just like Sherlock half an hour previously, a memory came steam rolling out of the dark towards Joan.

That must have been when Sherlock lifted her up on the kitchen worktop as they kissed.

Joan stood open mouthed. The first memory cleared the way for others and slowly the whole previous night came flooding back to her.

She marched over to her handbag and grabbed her phone from inside. Her mind reeled with all the angry things she could text Sherlock. Her thumbs hovered. If she unleashed even a fraction of what she felt, Sherlock would simply not come back. He would avoid her for hours, perhaps even days. No. She knew what she had to do.

'Come back, I'm not mad.'


	3. Chapter 3

She's not mad. Sherlock thought as he opened the Brownstone's door. He couldn't help but feel a little bit pleased. She didn't mind and he made her happy. There was somewhat of a spring in his step as he closed the door behind him only to see Joan standing in the hallway fists clenched at her side. She looked beautiful, Sherlock thought. Her hair had not been brushed and sat away from her head in very loose waves. She had no makeup on and a slightly ashen colour to her face, Sherlock studied her slender neck following it up...

"Sherlock!" she cried and he snapped out of his thoughts. She strode towards him and before he could react she slapped him hard across the face, striking his cheek. He recoiled aghast.

"Urm... ouch!" he said emphasising the "ouch".

"What the hell were you thinking?" Joan was yelling even louder now and her stance was one of an angry cat.

"Hey, you instigated it" he replied somewhat indignantly.

"No I..." she trailed off.

"You kissed me first." He continued. Sherlock was quite calm. Joan looked up at him. He was quite sure, he hadn't had any wine, and he hadn't had any for months now. No drugs of any kind- that was the deal. So he could remember every detail of the previous night.

"Watson, let's go and sit down and talk this through." She didn't reply they both walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Joan pulled a cushion onto her lap, an indicator that she felt uncomfortable Sherlock noticed.

"I'm not one of your cheap hookers you know" Joan said quietly. "I am dignified, I don't sleep around and I don't get involved with clients."

"I thought you said you weren't a hooker" Sherlock joked, a quick flash of inspiration on her choice of the word "client". He instantly regretted it as she flashed him a look that pierced a hole in his head right through to the wall behind him. "Sorry. Watson, I know that you're a brilliantly clever woman. You're not my normal type and yes you are my sober companion. You have not gone down in my esteem at all and if you so choose, no one else will ever find out and we won't ever discuss it again." Her brow wrinkled as she thought for a moment.

"I want to know what happened, I can't remember it all" Joan said finally.

"Fine" Sherlock replied with an awful feeling that he would regret telling her everything that had occurred almost as much the client joke.


	4. Chapter 4

*** The previous evening ***

The door opened and closed and Sherlock heard Joan's heels click across the Brownstone's wooden floor towards the kitchen. He himself was sat under the table thinking. Joan clicked across to the cupboard and removed a glass and left the kitchen, running up the stairs. She returned later – shoeless and with a bottle of wine in her hand. She poured a glass and leant against the kitchen side and sighed.

"Watson!" Sherlock called out and Joan almost dropped her glass of wine.

"Jesus Christ Sherlock you almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing under the table?"

"Thinking" he replied somewhat mysteriously. She didn't question it as she was quite used to Sherlock's strange ways after many weeks living together. Clearly something was wrong. It would take a lot for Joan Watson to break her own rules of having no drugs in the house. So Sherlock crawled out to investigate.

"Date with Jimmy didn't go well then I take it?"

"I don't want to talk about it" she replied quietly and miserably. Sherlock wrinkled his face and wandered around the table following a groove in it. He often felt slightly unsure how to approach such social situations.

"So the wine..." he questioned further. Joan put down the glass firmly down on the side and finally looked up at Sherlock.

"I am sorry. But I have a bit of a secret stash in my room. I didn't want to leave it in the fridge to tempt you but this is a dire situation."

"'Secret stash?! Who's the junkie now?" Sherlock joked.

"I'll put it away; it's totally unprofessional of me."

"No, no, don't worry; do you want to... talk about Jimmy?"

Joan narrowed her eyes. Was Sherlock being sympathetic? She took off her coat and scarf and threw them on the back of a chair. They both sat down and Joan poured herself another glass of decidedly warm wine.

"So I thought as it was the third date I should tell him about my job. So I explained that I was a sober companion and lived with a client. He enquired as to your gender" she gestured towards Sherlock as she said this "and well he got more than a little bit tetchy when I told him. He said I told him I was a doctor. Well I _WAS _a Doctor; I guess he just interpreted that wrong. So he got a bit agitated and we had a bit of an argument. It got a little bit out of hand, the whole restaurant ended up hearing and then I stormed out. A few people even applauded." Sherlock detected a hint of pride in her last sentence and he couldn't contain it any longer, he started to laugh, laugh like he hadn't laughed in a long time. No- one had made him laugh like this since... since Irene. Joan looked at him and she too began to laugh and the pair of them laughed until tears rolled down their faces.

And a few more glasses of wine later Sherlock and Joan were dancing around the kitchen table to Duran Duran.

"Her name is Rioooooo and she dances on the saaaaand."

Joan left briefly to retrieve another bottle of wine from her room and before long she had forgotten all about her argument with Jimmy. They both felt mutually happy in each other's company, dancing around to 80s pop hand in hand, Sherlock spinning Joan until she almost fell over with dizziness.

"You're not what I thought you were Watson" Sherlock said when they had both returned to the table, somewhat exhausted.

"Oh yes? Why's that then?" Joan replied with a giggle.

"You're not stuffy at all. You're fun and a lovely person to be around. I thought getting a sober companion would be like having a chain and ball attached to my ankle. But I hope you know I consider you a fr..."

Before he could finish his sentence Joan Watson leant across and kissed Sherlock hard on the lips.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it took so long everyone, I wanted it to be just so! Thank you for all your kind reviews, I love reading them.**

** The previous evening **

Joan had closed her eyes and placed her hands behind Sherlock's head; she slid her tongue into his mouth and continued to kiss him. At first Sherlock was startled but he didn't pull away. Slowly he placed his hands around her narrow waist and lifted her off the kitchen chair. Joan wrapped her legs around him and her arms around his broad shoulders. Sherlock was kissing back now and as it became more passionate he placed her less than gently down on the kitchen side, knocking over the paraphernalia on it. Neither of them cared. Sherlock ran his hands through Joan's hair and the scent of apples and mint pooled around him. Eventually she pulled away and stared up into his face, her legs still wrapped around him. Her affection surprised him; Sherlock was not used to it. His normal sexual encounters were always paid for and never had any of the same passion. He stared into her glassy eyes and felt as if he was being pulled two ways by his very sober mind. The inebriated mind speaks the truth he thought. Joan's was certainly doing that. Should he – as the sober one- be the absolutely rational one? In those few seconds of thought Joan had leant forward and kissed him again.

Before he knew it they were upstairs in Joan's room. He noticed how un-homely it was; she wasn't comfortable enough to make it her own yet he deduced. No pictures, no decorations. These deductions were quickly forgotten. Sherlock and Joan stood just an inch apart looking at each other, their chests revealing their hastening breathing. She tiptoed, lifted up his top and slid it up off him. He did the same to her and they pulled off each other's clothes quickly until eventually they were naked. Strangely neither felt embarrassment or shame at being naked in each other's company for the first time. The wine had taken the edge off of Joan's embarrassment but he himself felt completely comfortable despite his sobriety. Slowly he sat down on the edge of the bed and Joan sat on his lap wrapping herself around him, tossing her hair off her shoulders. Both were kissing each other moving their heads this way and that. Joan began to rise and fall on his lap in the motion of their kissing and Sherlock lay back on the bed. Legs either side of his hips and one hand on his chest Joan pulled Sherlock inside her. Moving rhythmically now Joan tipped her head back and her hair bounced up and down. Cautiously Sherlock put his hands on the side of her rib cage and slid them down to her hips making her shudder. Her rocking was getting faster now and Sherlock felt waves of shivers moving through his body. All at once he felt her muscles tense and she gasped as he did the same. Joan leant down and kissed his lips quickly, biting his bottom lip as she pulled away. She put her head on his chest.

"I've never loved anyone as much I love you Sherlock" she said quietly yet earnestly.

Astounded, Sherlock opened his mouth to reply only to hear her breathing had slowed. He delicately raised his head only to see that she had fallen asleep. Even more tentatively he sat up completely, holding her head in his large hands. He lifted her off of him and somewhat awkwardly used one hand to pull back the covers and lower her into it. Then, he crawled in next to her and too fell asleep.

Sherlock Holmes was loved.

Sherlock Holmes was in love.


	6. Chapter 6

"Joan?" Sherlock probed. Having finished recounting the previous evening's events a silence had hung heavy in the air. He had decided to omit the part where she had told him she loved him. He felt that was for the best. If she meant it, she would say it again at some point in the future.

"It's odd when you call me that" Joan said, finally breaking the unnerving quiet in the room. He chuckled and smiled at her. "But as you said earlier, I would prefer if this went no further."

"The inebriated mind speaks the truth you know" he said remembering his thoughts from last night.

"Sherlock..."

"I'm just saying that..."

"SHERLOCK!"

"Ok I'm sorry, as you wish. I think you should go and get changed, Detective Bell and Captain Gregson require our presence at the station."

"First I need to clean your face, it's bleeding. When I hit you, I'm wearing a ring." She twiddled the large and quite frankly garish plastic ring around her slender finger.

Sherlock remembered it digging into his chest last night...

"I'm sorry for urm, hitting you before I knew the full picture."

"Quite alright Watson, don't worry, I'll clean my face, and you go and get changed."

As she walked upstairs Sherlock noticed her slide the ring off her finger and he rubbed his face where it had sliced it. He made a mental note to throw it in the fire the next time he saw it.

"Jesus Holmes what happened to your face, you were only gone an hour?" Captain Gregson asked as they entered his office.

"Oh I..."

Joan jumped in to fill the gap where Sherlock paused momentarily to think of an excuse.

"I dropped a plate; a shard of it bounced up and cut his face. Clumsy of me really." She giggled and Gregson seemed satisfied with the excuse.

"I thought you said that you weren't going to help with any of the cases today?"

Joan looked across at Sherlock puzzled. Why would he turn down the opportunity to relieve himself of the boredom that crippled him if he wasn't working on a case or an experiment?

"Yes well I decided against it. You and your department need all the help you can get. I take it Detective Bell is at the mortuary as we speak?"

"Yeah he's there, are you going to have a look?"

"I certainly think we should. Come along Watson your medical knowledge will be much appreciated by me on this case." The duo left the office and as they were walking to mortuary Joan stopped Sherlock.

"Did you come here to avoid me this morning?" Sherlock's sheepish expression gave his answer away.

"I thought you said we weren't going to talk about it?"

She nodded in agreement and pushed open the mortuary's door.


	7. Chapter 7

Detective Bell was standing by the body of a young woman. It was covered by a sheet so only the face was uncovered. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, like she might leap up and grab him at any moment. Bell acknowledged them both and pulled back the sheet covering the rest of the woman's body. Sherlock surveyed her for a moment.

"Cafe-au-lait nevi." He declared after a few seconds.

"I'm sorry?" said Bell.

"That was French _and_ Latin. Meaning for coffee- with- milk coloured, birthmark." Sherlock replied.

"Oh, so is that related to how she died or...?" Bell asked.

"Funnily enough her _birth_mark did not contribute to her _death_. I was just pointing it out."

"Showing off more like" Bell remarked sarcastically.

Sherlock went on. "Watson has one on the lower part of her right hip."

Joan had a very large and loud coughing fit over the last part of Sherlock's sentence but the damage was done. Bell looked at them both confused, had he heard what he thought he had heard? Sherlock ploughed on oblivious.

"Miss Watson, if you could cast your medical eye over this body and tell me what you see."

Joan felt her cheeks blush slightly; she hated it when Sherlock put her on the spot like this. Nevertheless she walked towards the body and began looking over every inch of it. After a few minutes, she looked up at Sherlock. He waved his arms in an encouraging motion.

"Well, go on!" he said; clearly excited.

"This is a young woman in her mid-20s I would say. She is in good health apart from some bruising around her neck but..."

"But!" Sherlock interrupted "not enough to kill her no?"

"No, but they do look like they have been caused by fingers."

"Excellent" Sherlock said "I could burst with pride."

Bell interjected: "No offence guys. But all of that is in the autopsy report."

"I should think it is. Goodbye Bell, I have enough to start my investigations now" he headed for the door.

"What, you don't even know her name?"

"Don't need to, off we go Watson." Joan walked towards the door where Sherlock stood looking eager and she looked back to see Detective Bell who was equally as bemused as she was. Leaving the mortuary Joan had to practically run to keep up with Sherlock who was striding along the path up ahead.

She called out to him and he stopped.

"What were you playing at back there?" She scolded. Sherlock pursed his lips, not understanding her point.

"Miss Watson has one on the lower part of her right hip" she said imitating his British accent.

Sherlock still looked confused. He flicked his eyes left and right as he puzzled.

"So..."

"So! Detective Bell was probably thinking hmmm... I wonder when Sherlock has seen Joan's lower right hip. Surely she would have had to have been NAKED! Why has Sherlock seen her NAKED?" She exclaimed frustrated at Sherlock's current idiocy. He made an 'Oooo' shape with his lips, finally understanding what she meant.

"I didn't consider that, it just sort of came out when I saw she had one too."

"Well, if next time you could think before speaking, I would be eternally grateful!"

He agreed to and they both continued to walk down the street, Sherlock walking at a more manageable pace now.

"So how did you get all you needed just by looking at her body then?" she enquired.

"The tattoo my dear Watson; THE TATTOO!"

And with that he sped up with excitement again.


	8. Chapter 8

"She was one of yours then I presume?"

"I'm sorry?"

Sherlock covered his face and stood up pacing around the tables and chairs of the bar they were in. Bar; was a euphemism. It was more of a strip club, with poles and girls walking around laughing, talking and rehearsing. Joan stood somewhat uneasily leaning against the bar as Sherlock interrogated the club's owner; Dean Pepper.

Dean Pepper was in his mid thirties with a beard and a small hooped earring in one ear. His hair was jelled back and he smelt of tobacco. He wore a suit with a waistcoat and a garish yellow tie that clashed horribly. He fiddled with the earring has Sherlock spoke.

"Today, I saw a girl lying dead in a morgue. She had been murdered, not sure yet how but she had a very interesting mark on her. A tattoo, one that I recognised, of a little pepper on her ankle. Tiny, some might have even missed it. But I know that's how you like to 'brand' your girls." The man opened his mouth to argue but Sherlock went on. "Don't try to deny it, you think it's funny. Your name is Pepper, I know you like to tattoo your girls, just so everyone else in the business knows they're 'yours'. Why'd you kill her? Hmm. Did she try and leave? Was she going to report the other shady activities that I know for a fact, happen here?"

Pepper looked somewhat overwhelmed with the accusations and put his hands up revealing tobacco stained fingers.

"Listen here man, I don't know who you are but I do know I ain't no killer. I'm an honest business man. None of our girls have even gone missin' so I don't know what you're sayin' about me killin' one of them!"

"No, no I am sure you're not a killer, probably paid someone to do it. What was it, she had no family, no – one to notice she was gone? Wait, did you say none of the girls who worked here have gone missing?"

"Nope, not one. We keep a check on 'em all regularly, make sure they're all safe, some of 'em don't have anyone else to look out for 'em"

Sherlock considered this for a moment.

"So what happens when you do 'allow' these girls to leave? How do you, remove your 'claim' to them?"

"If you're talkin' about the tattoos we normally pay to have them covered up. A little red heart normally does the job. And for your information buddy, I don't own any of these girls; they are free to leave any time they want. They like workin' here, they're proud to work for such a popular club. So they get the tattoos to show they are pretty enough to work for Pepper."

Sherlock clicked his tongue and slipped off into his own thoughts for a while, obviously condensing all that Dean Pepper had said.

"You're pretty enough to work at Peppers", Mr Pepper said turning to Joan now.

"I'm sorry?"

"You ever get bored workin' with him, you come find me." He smiled sickeningly and winked.

Without warning Joan picked up the glass of water she had been drinking and threw it in his face.

"You are one vile, despicable man! The way you treat woman with utter disrespect and contempt sickens me. You take advantage of vulnerable women and use it for your own monetary gain. You may think that all women bow down to your every command but I will not stand here and be spoken to like that."

The commotion and shaken Sherlock out of his thoughts and he laughed when he saw Pepper's face and ironically 'wet-look' suit soaked with water. Sherlock and Joan walked towards the doors of the club.

"Hey, the offer still stands pretty lady! And like I said, I don't make them stay, they like working here, the money is great and they get treated a damn sight better than in other clubs!"

With that Joan pushed open the club's doors and the duo walked out.

"What a CREEP!" Joan exclaimed.

"Yeah, you handled him well though" Sherlock laughed.

"So are we any further with the case then?"

"I think so" replied Sherlock. "I think so, yes."


	9. Chapter 9

"Where are we going now?" Joan groaned as Sherlock and her quick marched along the streets of New York, dodging tourists and those on their lunch breaks.

"To see an old friend" Sherlock replied ducking off of the main street into a backstreet. Joan looked up at the neon sign above a small shop with its windows painted black. "Tattoos" it read. Sherlock went inside and Joan followed, the door seemed too small for even she had to duck to get inside. Her eyes adjusted and she looked around the slightly dingy shop. Drawings and pictures of tattoos smothered the walls and a young woman stood behind the counter chewing gum reading a magazine. The room out the back blasted out rock music and she didn't look up when they entered. Sherlock cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention but the music drowned him out. He strode up to the counter (he often strode everywhere) and snatched the magazine out her hands. The woman jumped and looked up.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"Yes, I need to speak to Gabe please."

"He's pretty busy..."

"Yes, it sounds that way" Sherlock replied smiling. "Tell him its Sherlock; I'm sure he will make time."

The receptionist rolled her eyes and slunk off into the back room. The music stopped and a man emerged with the young woman trailing behind. He was slim with curly brown hair, shaved at the sides. His outstretched arms were covered in tattoos.

"Sherlock! Long time no see? How are ya bud? What can I do you for?"

The pair embraced and Sherlock stepped back.

"Business this time I'm afraid Gabe." The man looked slightly crestfallen.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, I don't suppose you tattoo the girls who work for Dean Pepper do you?"

"Nooo no, I would never get involved with him. He is a dodgy piece of work."

"Do you know who does?"

"Nope, sorry. But taking a guess I would say it's no one licensed or legitimate, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if that amoeba does it himself."

"Well, thank you for all your help. One last question, is it possible to tattoo a dead person?"

Gabe looked confused. "Umm I guess it would be, not sure why you'd want to though..."

Sherlock grinned and shook Gabe's hand, "thank you for everything Gabe."

"Hope to see you again soon Sherlock, I would love to tattoo you again sometime."

"Can we get something to eat" Sherlock said to Joan as they left the tattoo parlour, "I'm hungry."

"Yeah that's because we haven't stopped all day Sherlock."

They found a cafe and ordered baguettes.

"So you think someone tattooed the woman, _after_ she died?" Joan asked.

"It's a possibility yes. Or another possibility that Dean Pepper was lying to us. The way I see it is there are two possible explanations. The girl had never worked for Pepper and someone tattooed the girl's ankle to make it look like she had, to cover their tracks. Or Dean Pepper was lying and a woman who worked at Pepper's has gone missing and is our victim."

"How are you going to find out which possibility is correct then?"

Sherlock chewed a piece of baguette and swallowed. "I am going to have to go undercover Watson!"

Joan sighed, she could sense trouble ahead.

"Go on, tell me." A begrudging Joan asked

"Well I will go to Pepper's posing as a client. I will take ask one of the girls to come to dinner with me, offer her some money if she is reluctant and I'll ask her if any of the girls have gone missing to see if Pepper is lying."

Joan thought this plan through for a while.

"Sounds like a good plan to me" she said somewhat sarcastically, "what could possibly go wrong?"

"Of course it's a good plan, I thought of it" he said mocking arrogance. Or at least Joan thought he was putting it on.

"What tattoo did Gabe do for you then?" Joan said changing the topic and attempting to make sense of at least one of the tattoos on Sherlock's body that he had never explained.

"This one." He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a tattoo of a tiny bird amongst his sleeve of tattoos. Sensing she wanted to know more he went on.

"For Irene" he said simply. Joan nodded.

"That's very sentimental. For you anyway, Sherlock."

"She was the only thing I ever had worth sentiment" Sherlock whispered sadly.

...

Joan and Sherlock returned to Brownstone and whilst Joan cleaned the kitchen that Sherlock had trashed _again_ Sherlock went upstairs.

"_I clean the fridge once a month that was the deal" _he always said when she complained.

It had got dark outside and she was sitting on the sofa reading when Sherlock finally emerged from upstairs. He was wearing a tailored dark grey suit and waistcoat with a navy tie. He had brushed his hair and was wearing patent black shoes. Joan had never seen him looking so smart. He looked incredible she thought.

Joan removed her reading glasses and gaped open mouthed

"Sherlock you look..."

"I scrub up well, don't I?" he said feigning arrogance again and glancing down at his suit.

"I'm off then" he said.

Joan said goodbye and Sherlock left. She tried to ignore her fast-beating heart and turning stomach as she listened to him leave.


	10. Chapter 10

_**I've had a few requests for longer chapters, so here you go! I love hearing your reviews and where you want the story to go next.**_

* * *

Sherlock crashed back through the Brownstone's door shortly after midnight. He pocketed his key and hung up his coat. Loosening his tie, he trotted into the living room; excited to tell Joan of the evening's events. He called out to her but the room was in darkness. Unsurprised (he hadn't expected her to wait up for him) he ran upstairs to wake her. He had weighed up her rage upon being woken up and the excitement of his news. His news had won. So he knocked on her door to give her approximately two seconds notice that he was coming in. He walked in only to be dismayed. She wasn't in bed, the curtains weren't drawn. Confused he jogged back downstairs. Perhaps she had gone out? Although she did normally tell him when she was going out. Sherlock clicked on the light and something caught his attention. A piece of paper on the coffee table; the poor light beforehand had made it invisible_. Joan explaining where she is_ he thought as he flipped open the folded sheet.

It wasn't Joan's handwriting.

'If you want to see your little bitch again I suggest you come along to 221 Main Street and come alone. Any cops and she loses her grey stuff.'

Sherlock reeled in horror and dropped the note. Looking around the room there was no signs of a struggle. A gun pointed at her head meant Joan would have gone quietly. Sherlock's stomach churned and he took long breaths trying to steady his shaking. _Joan wasn't meek, she would be fine, _he thought trying to reassure himself_._ He would go and see what they wanted, give them _anything_ they wanted so long as they released Joan. He ran back to the Brownstone's door grabbed his coat and left.

* * *

Joan Watson sat tied around the waist to a rusting radiator bound by rope and gagged. Her hands were tied behind her. She could see in the dim light that she was in an abandoned house with boarded up windows and a thick layer of dust everywhere. Her eye was already starting to blacken and bruise where one of them had smacked her across the face with a gun when she had struggled to get free. It was cold and her breaths could be seen in front of her face. Quietly she sat reassuring herself that she would soon be free.

Joan Watson had a plan.

Although her hands were tied behind her back, she was sure she could free them. Before the assailants arrived Joan had sat wrapping a present for a friend on the kitchen table when she heard a noise. She had slipped the pair of scissors into the pockets in the back of her jeans without thinking and had gone to investigate. Grabbed from behind they dragged her out of the house; unseen due to the late hour and darkness. Kicking and trying to scream she fought as they tied her hands and gagged her in the trunk of a car and drove her for what seemed like miles. She desperately tried to remember every turn they took, to try and map where they were taking her but it was hopeless and she bumped around the trunk of the car defeated. It was only when the two men had tied her to the radiator had she remembered the benediction in her back pocket.

Her two kidnappers sat on chairs a short distance away from her in the empty house that they had taken her to. Hushed tones suggested that they were deep on conversation and thus not totally focussed on her. Easing herself up slightly she pushed her arms down and her tied hands grappled for the scissors, she flicked them open as best she could: blade up, and began sawing away at the rope that bound her hands. It was a slow process but from the front it looked totally inconspicuous. She even kept a slightly dejected expression on her face the whole time to make it look even less suspicious. After some time she felt the rope give and she felt it fall to the floor. Her hands were free. But she kept them behind her back as to not give herself away. With freed hands it was much easier to slice through the rope that bound her to the radiator. Now completely untied, she remained in the same position and decided to attempt to gain information from her kidnappers.

"Hey, what do you want from me?" she called out.

The pair turned to look at her and one of them laughed.

"Not you honeybee, your boyfriend."

"If you mean Sherlock then he won't come. Or he'll call the police."

"He ain't callin' no-one; if he does then I'm afraid I will have to place a bullet square in your head."

The second man gestured with the gun.

"What do you want with Sherlock then?" she asked further.

"He is looking into something he should keep his British sticky beak out of."

"Would that 'something' be the death of a certain young woman with a pepper tattoo?"

"Sylvie? Yeah."

She knew the woman's name at last.

"I'm guessing you work for Mr. Pepper then?"

Their worried glances gave them away before they had chance to lie.

"We don't work for no-one."

Joan nodded, pretending to believe them.

The men went back to their hushed talking and Joan waited. She waited until they were immersed in conversation and silently stood up.

"Hey!"

Both men spun round and their mouths dropped open to see Joan standing up. They rushed at her ready to grab her but Joan ducked to her left and ran as fast as she could past them. As she reached the wooden chairs that the men had been sat on one of them grabbed her from behind. Without hesitation she bent down and picked up a chair, smashing it across his head, he fell to the floor with a thud that echoed; knocked out and- more importantly- dropping the gun that he had held in his hand. Joan bent down and picked it up. Pointing it at the other kidnapper she cocked it.

"Now either you let me leave here or what was it? 'I will place one of these square in your head'."

The man raised his hands and got on his knees, completely terrified.

Joan turned on her heels and ran out of the back room that she had been tied in and through the hall towards the front door. She wrenched it open and crashed into the man standing the other side.

Sherlock caught Joan in his arms.

"Joan!"

"Thanks for turning up" she replied jokingly through ragged breaths.

"Are you ok?" Joan nodded finally catching her breath.

"Your face..." he gently stroked a finger across her bruised face.

"Yeah, I got hit with this". She waved the gun. "I don't think anything is broken though" she added.

"Give it to me" Sherlock said looking through the glass of the front door, trying to see the culprit, ready to kill.

"Don't." The adrenaline was wearing off and she felt wearied. "Call Captain Gregson, if he gets here fast enough I think he should be able to arrest the man out cold on the floor in there. The other man had probably long since escaped out the back door."

Sherlock obliged, suppressing the murderous feeling he had been harbouring upon seeing Joan's face. Joan sat on the front wall of the house and put her head in her hands.

"I think we both have some catching up to do." She said turning to Sherlock. He smiled at her and they both heard sirens wailing in the distance.

Soon Gregson had arrived and the knocked out man was bundled into the back of a police car as he started to come around. Joan gave them details of what happened as Sherlock sat impatiently on the wall. Jumping up he pulled Gregson aside.

"I'm going to take Joan home; you have the basics of what happened right? She's exhausted."

They turned to see Joan talking to Detective Bell trying hard to hide her tiredness. Gregson went over and told Joan she could leave. Gregson whistled for an officer to take them both home in a police car.

Upon arriving back at the house they went inside and stood in the hall. Sherlock bent down and kissed Joan on the forehead. She didn't flinch or pull away.

"We'll talk in the morning?" he said and she nodded and went upstairs to bed.

Sherlock could not sleep. He had to make sense of what information he had to personally see that all those involved in Joan's kidnap received their just desserts.

* * *

_**I wanted Joan to be the total BAMF that she is in the show! She is no princess who needs saving!**_


	11. Chapter 11

Joan awoke some time after 2pm. The pain in her face was the first thing she noticed. She touched it tenderly and winced; sucking air through her teeth. Sitting up she saw Sherlock asleep in a chair by her bed, head rested on his hand, he was still in his suit and had obviously been watching her sleep to make sure she was ok. Joan felt slightly overwhelmed by his compassion. Swinging out of her bed she patted to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her whole left cheekbone, jaw and eye socket was swollen and purple. The bruising caught the light. It even looked somewhat artistic.

"Jesus" she breathed. Sherlock stirred in the next room and came in.

"Good morning" he said behind her. She spun around he drew in a breath upon seeing her face.

"It's bad isn't it?"

Joan could see the honesty that plagued Sherlock, fighting with the sympathy he knew he wanted to show as he gawped at her face. The compassion won and he said –albeit unconvincingly.

"You look fine" he even pulled a smile. Joan suddenly remembered that they hadn't shared their accounts of the previous evening. They left the bathroom and both went and sat on her bed. Joan told Sherlock about the two men getting into the house, taking her to the empty house, telling her that their real target was in fact Sherlock.

"But they were definitely working for Pepper, their faces gave them away" she confirmed.

"I thought as much, my 'date' also confirmed some vital information for us. Bit annoying really."

"Annoying?"

"Yeah. I somewhat loathe cut and paste cases. When your initial suspect does in fact turn out to be the culprit it makes it dull."

Joan was slightly bemused.

"But that means you're right, you love being right! Your natural instinct was correct."

He weighed this up.

"I suppose so yes, although it does take away from the thrill of the chase somewhat."

"Sherlock, you've solved a case and you're actually disappointed?"

"Alas, we have not solved it yet. We need proof, for the courts."

"So what did the girl who worked for Pepper say then?"

"Her name was 'Celeste'. Although I very much doubt that was actually her real name. I told her I wanted to take her out for a meal, no sex; I was just a lonely businessman who wanted someone to share a meal with. Of course I incentivised it for her and she was more than happy to oblige. Anyhow, I steered the conversation towards her work at Pepper's and the other girls that worked there, asked her if they tended to stick around long. She said they all did apart from one girl."

"Sylvie" they both said in unison.

Sherlock nodded." Apparently she had got pretty close to Pepper's wife. _Really_ close and he had threatened to sack her. But before he had chance, she disappeared."

"There's our motive then."

"Yes, we just need some proof now. I was thinking I would go out and ask around with Pepper's associates."

"Will you at least have breakfast first?" Joan asked. Sherlock agreed and they went down into the kitchen. Sherlock sat at the table whilst Joan stood and made coffee. She was putting the coffee into the mugs when she felt a strange sensation envelop her. Her head felt simultaneously light and incredibly heavy, her knees buckled and Sherlock saw her eyes roll back into her head. He caught her just before she hit the ground.

"Oh my, Joan, please are you ok?" he stroked her face and gently tapped the unbruised side. She came back around and moaned softly.

"Sher..."

"I think you're concussed, I'm calling an ambulance" he said taking his mobile out of his suit pocket. Her head rested on his lap as he spoke to the operator.

"Really, I'm fine." she said faintly.

"No you're not, look at yourself". Joan attempted to raise her head but it fell limply back down onto Sherlock's lap.

* * *

"Ok Ms Watson, we are going to x-ray your face to make sure nothing is broken. It is possible that you have a concussion, especially with a blow to the face like that. How did you..."

"Pistol whipped" she explained to the female doctor who stood at the foot of your bed. The doctor looked confused.

"I was mugged." Joan quickly lied to avoid difficult questions.

"Ah I see." The doctor smiled at her sweetly. Do you want me to tell your boyfriend that you'll be going down to x-ray shortly? He's waiting out in the corridor."

"Oh no, he's not... he's not my boyfriend. But that would be lovely if you could tell him for me."

"My apologies, I will do that for you now. Oh before I forget I will need a urine sample before your x-ray; standard procedure. It just checks to make sure you're not pregnant, or have any serious illnesses or diseases."

"Oh I know, I am, well, _used _to be a doctor too."

"Really?! You got out! How'd you do it? Not many of us get to walk away from this crazy profession!"

"I found something more fulfilling" Joan replied with a smile. Her doctor smiled back and left. Joan provided a urine sample and dozed off, waiting for her x-ray. A short while later Sherlock came in, holding grapes.

"Wow Sherlock and there's me thinking you weren't into all this"

"All this..."

"You know, sentiment."

"Well, I have to care for my associate, do I not?"

"Associate?"

"Yes, in light of current events you have been promoted. I would, ahem. I would love it if you would stay, after your time as my sober companion is up and become my trainee. Pass on all I know to you."

Joan bit her lip and considered this for a moment.

"Sherlock I mean I love what we do but, my job is a sober companion. That's what I do."

"Oh don't give me that Joanie" (Joan raised her eyebrows at being called Joanie. Sherlock rarely even called her Joan, let alone 'Joanie'). "You loathe being my sober companion. No" He raised his hand to stop her interrupting him to disagree. "I know that you don't loathe me, at least I hope you don't. But I see it when we are on a case, when you crack a riddle or find a clue. Your eyes light up and your face glows, I can see the passion inside you when we are out solving crime. I see no such passion when you ask me for a urine sample to check for drugs or when you email my father to provide your fortnightly update."

How could she disagree? It was true, as a sober companion she would flinch at the sound of her alarm clock and struggle to get out of bed. Yet when Sherlock shook her awake at 5am to share his exciting developments on a case with her, although she feigned annoyance she was secretly harbouring a growing sense of excitement at all that Sherlock did.

And all though neither of them would admit it. It wasn't just the deductive work that made them both energised. They both felt an equal sense of completion in each other's company. Non-judgemental compassion and love.

"Ok" Joan said finally.

Sherlock beamed "welcome aboard" he said.

The doctor from earlier returned.

"Sir, if you would like to step outside, I need to have a quick chat with Ms Watson."

Sherlock stood up obligingly but Joan put out her arm to stop him.

"No it's ok, I'd rather Sherlock be here, don't worry you can say anything with him here too."

The doctor looked conflicted but didn't disagree.

"Something showed up on your urine sample."

Joan and Sherlock exchanged worried glances and he squeezed her hand. _Compassion._

"Ms Watson, are you aware that you're pregnant?"


	12. Chapter 12

Joan blinked. Her doctor still stood at the bottom of her bed, it wasn't a dream. She turned to Sherlock who was looking equally dumbfounded.

Joan swallowed but her dry mouth stuck her tongue and the roof of her mouth together, she hoarsely replied to the question.

"No. I wasn't."

"Just a few weeks I would say. It explains your fainting though; some women get very faint during pregnancy. I'm afraid you won't be allowed that x-ray now though."

Joan nodded and the room blurred as her eyes filled with tears.

"Congratulations." The doctor said enthusiastically and left.

Joan turned back towards Sherlock. His face mirrored hers. Lips parted with shock, grey faced and blood pumping.

"I'm not sure what to say" he said finally. She shook her head, agreeing with the notion.

"I'm...pregnant?"

"I take it it's..."

"Yes of course it is yours Sherlock!" she snapped back. "Can you take me home please?"

...

"What are we going to do Sherlock?" Joan lay in her bed, Sherlock sat beside her.

"Whatever you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Well that's ok too then."

"Why are you being so bloody calm about this Sherlock?"

"I'm just being supportive." He replied, somewhat hurt.

"How do you feel about it?" she asked, tipping her head slightly, trying to read the world's greatest detective's face.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly" Joan replied firmly.

"Elated" he said assuredly.

"Really?"

He exhaled and forced out what he had been shutting away for many weeks now.

"Joan, I love you. I have from just a few hours of knowing you. I love the way that your hair bounces when you walk. I love the way that your freckles dust your face like chocolate dusting on a cappuccino. I love the way you stand up to me and refuse to allow me to become the petulant child that others do. I love the ways that your lips sit slightly apart when you sleep. I love the way your hips..."

Sherlock was interrupted by a kiss and his body tensed but soon melted into Joan's kiss.

"I had no idea you felt this way" she said pulling away.

"You are _everything" _he pulled her face towards his again and grabbed a handful of her hair.

"I also love the way you smell like mint and apples" he added playfully.

Joan flinched slightly when Sherlock's kisses reached the bruised side of her face. He pulled away and looked at her apologetically but she simply leant forward and pulled up his top over his head. He quickly reciprocated. He moved his kisses down onto her neck and chest, gently sucking and biting her nipples when he reached them. She groaned in anticipation. His trail of kisses followed her stomach down and past her navel until her reached her bottoms. Slowly he pulled them off and he began to stroke the desired area. Her hips bucked upwards and her breaths grew faster and more ragged. She grabbed handfuls of his hair and he pressed his lips onto her; making her muscles tense and spasm towards him. She teetered on the edge so he slowly removed his own trousers and entered her. Joan threw her head off of the pillow as they both swayed together. Sherlock looked down into her eyes that this time were not glazed over, but looking back at him with the desire and love that he felt with her. He climaxed and a few seconds later so did she. He fell towards her, pressing his lips hard onto hers as they both breathed heavily.

"Thank you. _Daddy"_ she added and Sherlock's heart leapt up in his chest.


	13. Chapter 13

Joan and Sherlock decided not to tell anyone about the baby or even their relationship. It was their secret for now. Both of them threw themselves into finally cracking the Pepper case. It was midnight and they both sat on the floor of the living room, surrounded by scraps of paper and evidence; trying to decide where to go next.

"It says here that one of Pepper's associates was this guy who owns this scrap car lot?" Joan said picking up a piece of crumpled yellow paper. "Doesn't that seem like the perfect place to hide some evidence if there was any?"

"Why Ms Watson I do believe you are correct!" Sherlock stood up only to bend down and kiss the top of her forehead. "I will go down there at first light and investigate."

"You will, will you?"

"Yes?" Sherlock replied, not understanding her question.

"So what am I a kept woman now? That's it I am 'with child' so I am not allowed out?"

"Is this the hormones talking?" he asked but instantly regretted it. Her face flushed with anger.

"You really need to work on the misogyny thing mister!" she said jumping up.

He took her hand. "Joan I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come across that way. I just... I want you to be safe. I couldn't protect you before and this happened." He touched her still bruised face. "I will go down to this scrap car place and investigate whilst you get ready for your scan, ok?"

She nodded, understanding Sherlock's over-protective nature more now. But her heart buzzed at the prospect of her 12-week scan and the prospect of finally being able to come clean to everyone about her and Sherlock and their baby. Sherlock placed a hand on her belly. There were no signs of pregnancy but his warmth soothed her for a moment. The relief was only temporary though as nausea overcame her and she rushed to be sick for the umpteenth time that day. She didn't have morning sickness. She had all day sickness. Sherlock followed her and rubbed her back as she vomited. Upon standing up she felt the same light/heavy headedness that she experienced on the day she discovered she was pregnant. Sherlock was ready this time though and caught her before she had chance to fall. He carried her to her bed and put her in it and lay down besides her watching as she fell asleep. Within a few hours it was daylight and he kissed her goodbye and set off for the car lot.

* * *

Sherlock looked around, no obvious CCTV or guards. He hopped over the gates of the scrap car dealership with relative grace and landed the other side adjusting his scarf. He took out a torch from his pocket and began to look under all the cars. After a few minutes of searching he found what he was looking for, the ground underneath one of the cars had been disturbed. Sherlock glanced around, took off his coat and placed it over the window of the car. He picked up a nearby wrench and smashed it through the window. There was no alarm and he pulled up the car door's lock letting himself in. He released the hand brake and the car rolled backwards off of the disturbed ground and he set off in search for a tool to dig with and was impressed by his luck upon finding a small shovel. ("I'm not lucky, I'm good" he thought, reminding himself of his favourite t-shirt). Within a few minutes he had retrieved a small box from the ground. Upon opening it he couldn't help but say "gotcha." Pulling out his phone he text Captain Gregson

'Morning Captain, have Pepper and his wife arrested and meet me at the station. I have found your killer and some hard proof. CUIAB.'

CUIAB – C U IN A BIT. Joan often moaned that Sherlock's own text speak was indecipherable. He then text Joan.

'Good morning my love, found what we were looking for. Hard evidence, meet me at the station if you want to see the rewards of your genius. We can go to the hospital from there. X'

Even he was surprised at the soppiness of the message but sent it none the less.

_Message received C. Gregson 07:03 'This had better be good Holmes.'_

_Message received Joan Watson 07:04 'See you there xxx.' _

* * *

"Now, Mr Pepper, if you're going to kill someone. You have to be pretty clever. And I must say you have been very clever up until now. But you have a fatal flaw. You are human and they let emotions get in the way of things. I thought you killed Sylvie because she was going to leave your club but really it was the opposite. You killed her because she was going to stay and continue the affair she was having with your wife."

"I already told you, I didn't kill anyone!"

"Ahh now I have proof that says otherwise." Captain Gregson produced the box Sherlock had found only a few hours previously.

Pepper's face fell when he saw it.

"Not enough evidence in there for you Sir?"

Sherlock began detailing all the letters that were contained in the box. Love letters exchanged between Sylvie and Mrs Pepper and crucially, letters between Mr Pepper and Sylvie, threatening to kill her if she didn't leave."

"Two mistakes. Firstly, letters? I mean it's the 21st century and you can't use text messages or emails to threaten someone? Secondly, why not destroy them? Because Mr Pepper the action of burning something is final it's conclusive, it would have cemented what you had done. Underlined in red ink that: . . So you buried them in the hope no-one would find them but _you _would always know where they were."

Pepper looked defeated. Sherlock smirked and walked out. Joan and Gregson followed soon after.

"Well I guess I gotta thank you for solving a case for me, a_gain _Sherlock."

"I think Ms Watson deserves the credit for the final nail in Mr Pepper's coffin."

Gregson thanked Watson.

"Sorry Captain but Ms Watson and I have a prior engagement we must attend."

The trio said their goodbyes and Gregson watched them leave out of the window.

Hold on, were they _holding hands?_ Gregson blinked and shook his head. They were. Surprised, he sat down.

_Finally someone to make that man happy_ he thought as he sorted through his mound of paperwork.

* * *

**The next chapter is going to be an emotional one! Thank you all for your kind reviews, I love reading them and hearing where you want the story to go next. I will update soon. **


	14. Chapter 14

There it was. The tiny beating heart of her child. Their child. Its heart born out of the love of its parents and it beat strong in its tiny chest. Joan welled up. But Sherlock sat quietly beside her staring at the screen the weight of this tiny child felt unbearable on his shoulders.

"Would you both like a picture to keep?" the nurse asked.

They both nodded slowly and she printed them off a picture. Joan slipped hers into her handbag and Sherlock pocketed his. Strolling out of the hospital hand in hand they could both sense each other's anticipation. Sherlock turned to Joan.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Of course" she replied. "Are you having second thoughts?" she asked hesitantly.

"No it's just that..." Sherlock guided her onto a bench and looked into her dark eyes. Sometimes he couldn't see where her pupils ended and her irises began. Like staring into a darkened forest. Sometimes he couldn't see the brown for the darkness.

"It's just what, Sherlock?"

"I mean, it's me. I am a recovering drug addict. I haven't even been sober a year yet. I just think that you could do better than to have a child with a fractious heroin user.

"Former, user" she interjected.

"My line of work is dangerous and unsociable. I'm not sure that it's an acceptable set of circumstances to bring a child up in."

"Sherlock, do you trust me?" Joan quizzed.

"Of course I do but..." Sherlock failed to see where her enquiry was heading.

"Good, then I trust you. Trust that I trust you. What I mean is, I am a good judge of character, and I would never bring a child into this world with someone whom I didn't trust. I know that you will never go back to drugs whilst I am here and whilst our baby is here. Have faith in yourself, because I have faith in you. I love you."

It was the first time Joan had properly, soberly acknowledged her love for Sherlock.

"I love you too" he kissed her softly on the lips. They walked out of the hospital grounds into the main street.

Sherlock hailed a cab and Joan got in.

"Are you not coming with me?" she asked as Sherlock stood on the pavement.

"No, I have a few things to sort out. I will see you back home in a few hours" and he waved her off in the cab.

...

He thumbed the tiny baby grow in his hand and traced the embroidered bird on its pocket. He took out his wallet and paid for it slipping his gift and the wallet back into his pocket, his hand brushing against his ultrasound picture. _Baby's first clothes_ he thought to himself.

...

Joan was running. Although she was asleep her mind was telling her to run and she desperately fought to get away from the demons that were chasing her. She couldn't see them but she knew they were behind her, their hot breath on her neck.

"Please don't hurt my baby, please don't hurt my baby" she begged as she was pulled out of her nightmare.

Joan awakened to a searing pain ripping through her body. She sat up and cried out in pain. Sherlock stirred beside her.

"Joan?"

The pain intensified and she bent double as a wave of spasms tore through her stomach. This time she screamed out.

Sherlock leapt out of the bed, fully awake and flicked the light on. Joan pulled back the covers and felt her bottoms wet with warm blood.

"Oh my God no" she cried and tried to get out of the bed. Sherlock stood looking at her wide eyed, panic etched into his face.

"Don't worry it will all be ok" he soothed as he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and dialled 911 for the second time in only a few weeks.


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm so sorry, there is no heartbeat."

Joan lay numbly on the hospital bed. She couldn't bring herself to look at the empty screen or across to Sherlock's empty face. He took her hand but she didn't respond. Distantly she heard the nurse talking about counselling but all Joan could hear was her mind screaming out.

She let out a convulsive sob and ugly tears rolled down her cheeks. Nothing could ebb away at the feeling of failure that had overcome her.

_It's not fair_. She wanted to say. _I have only got to be pregnant for a few weeks and now it is gone. How is that fair?_ But she didn't say this; she just looked sadly down at her empty stomach.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded. The needle hovered above his arm, the point ready to pierce his skin and allow the sadness to pour out.

The tattoo needle buzzed into life and began to scratch away at his skin. Gabe worked quickly and carefully inking a space on Sherlock's arm. Although he could tattoo himself, he wanted this one to be perfect. His most important one yet.

As he sat in the chair he recollected on how he had returned from the hospital with Joan – lovingly placing her into bed trying to encourage words out of her – to no avail. He had gone downstairs to his coat and taken out the tiny baby grow out of his coat pocket and drawn the little bird that featured on it. He had wanted to throw the tiny item of clothing in the fire, burn away the memories but he couldn't bring himself to do it. So, instead he placed it back in his pocket with the ultrasound picture and left with his drawing to come to Gabe's. Gabe hadn't questioned Sherlock's choice of tattoo; he could sense Sherlock was not in the right frame of mood for talking, so he silently worked eternalising the tiny bird on Sherlock's arm; next to his tattoo for Irene. Gabe finished and Sherlock looked down at the new addition to his collection. The two birds flew next to each other. Irene and his baby. The two things in Sherlock's life that he thought would set him free – allow him to soar like bird, but instead had caused him more pain than a tattoo needle ever could.

* * *

Joan sat on her bed, hollow and numb. There were no tears that could physicalise the pain that she felt. A few weeks ago she was Sherlock's sober companion – a companionship that was simple and straight lined. And now she was a woman who had failed to maintain the life that they had created. She couldn't help but feel guilty. The doctors had told her it was not her fault "one in three pregnancies end in a miscarriage" they had told her somewhat brutally. Their words could not prevent her guilt or stem the tide of grief she felt. Joan got up and turned on the radio that sat on her chest of drawers in an attempt to drown out the sadness she felt.

_Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand_ the radio sang.

"Mine and your Daddy's song" she said to her stomach and the baby that was no longer there.

Joan wanted Sherlock so she rummaged in her handbag to find her phone to call him. Her hand came across her ultrasound picture first. She took it out and stared at it as if trying to visualise what her baby might looked like. She sat there and watched it grow from a baby into a child, a teenager and then a handsome adult with her almond eyes and its father's height. Joan took out a pen and wrote on the picture's reverse: _Baby Holmes _and underneath the date it was taken from her.

Eventually she found her phone and phoned Sherlock, he said he was on his way home.

_When will the pain end?_ She thought sadly.

* * *

"Joanie you have to eat" Sherlock said trying to prompt Joan into eating the pasta he had made her. She just turned away from him and looked out of the kitchen window. Their pain hung heavy in the air and created a silence that was almost palpable. Sherlock sighed and stood up walking over to behind Joan's chair, he hugged her from behind and she slowly stood up. He placed his head on her shoulder.

"I have faith in us Joanie" he said simply. She wrapped her arms around his and nodded.

There they stood in the kitchen bodies pressed together but not having to look at each other.

* * *

_**A sad chapter for me to write. Things will get better for them both soon, I promise. Have faith in Sherlock and Joan!**_


	16. Chapter 16

That night Joan had the same nightmare as the one she had on the night she lost her baby. The demons were coming for her baby. This time they caught up and snatched the tiny bundle from her hands. The blankets were ripped from her grasp.

"No!" She screamed out and Sherlock stirred beside her. Her hand fell instinctively fell to her stomach as it took a few seconds for her memories to return to her.

"Joan?" Sherlock asked; his voice gruff with sleep.

"I'm fine" she responded rolling over and throwing her arm over his back, brushing his arm. He let out a short breath as her hand brushed the dressing that covered his new tattoo. Joan heard his slight grimace of pain.

"What's that?"

"Oh I, I got a new tattoo." Sherlock said without turning to look at her.

"I see" she said. Joan rolled back over and flicked on the lamp on her bedside table, signalling to Sherlock that she wanted to talk. He pushed himself up on his arms and leant his head back against the headboard. Slowly he peeled back the tattoo's dressing so she could see what was underneath.

"Our baby bird" he explained. Joan stared hard at the tattoo trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Sensing her distress Sherlock put his arm around her and pulled her into his chest for a hug.

"Don't worry, Irene is looking after it" he added. Joan wasn't sure how to respond or even if Sherlock's words had comforted her. The idea of her baby being cared for a woman she hadn't even met didn't sit easily with her... Although deep down it did soothe her to imagine her child blissfully happy somewhere.

...

"It's just. I mean, how can something like that have such an effect on you? I mean I only knew I was pregnant for a few weeks and yet here I sit grieving like I have lost someone close to me. It just doesn't make any sense to me."

"Joan." Her councillor explained "whilst you may have only known you were pregnant for a few weeks, in those few weeks you will have planned your whole future around the baby. You will have imagined what it looked like how it would act. Its death will have pulled the rug from under your feet, that future you had planned is gone. So don't worry, it is perfectly normal to feel this pain; this grief. How does your partner feel about it?"

"I...I don't really know. I haven't asked him. Oh god that's awful. I haven't even asked Sherlock how he feels."

"When you get home, talk to him. Talking can be very effective in working through this pain." Her councillor set down her pen and took Joan's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Perhaps you could find a case to work on, to distract yourselves?"

...

Joan and Sherlock's absence at the station had made Captain Gregson and Detective Bell suspicious. Sherlock was normally climbing the walls ready to assist them with cases but his absence had made the station a much duller place. Secretly, as much as the officers moaned that they hated Sherlock's interference they had all missed his direction on the cases they had worked. Gregson and Bell stood in Gregson's office talking about Sherlock's resounding absence.

"I will just go around there, see if he is ok." Gregson decided finally, pulling on his coat and gloves. He was soon at the Brownstone's door and he raised a clenched fist to knock when he heard noise from inside. Whilst Gregson may not have been as good a detective as the infamous Sherlock Holmes, he was still one of the best in the job. Intrigued, he lowered his arm and pressed an ear to the door to listen. Joan was laughing inside, giggling. Gregson could hear Sherlock talking to her, but too softly for him to hear.

"Sherlock! Ah stop it. I will..." More laughter from inside. "I will have horrible hickeys all over my neck." Joan whooped and laughed more and through the glass of the door Gregson could see them both stumble into the hall, Sherlock wrapping his arms around Joan in a bear hug. Gregson raised his arm again and knocked loudly on the door. The laughter stopped and Joan came to the door, completely composed.

"Oh hi Captain Gregson, come in, it's lovely to see you." Gregson stepped into the hall and removed his gloves. He had to hand it to both of them, they were both fantastic actors. If he hadn't just overheard them he would have been none the wiser as they stood in the hall, stoic faced.

"I uh, just came to see how you both were, you haven't been to the down to the station at all in the past few weeks and it's not like you."

"Yes" said Sherlock looking across to Joan and then back to the Captain. "Well, you didn't call and say you needed my help so I figured that none of the cases were particularly pressing. Besides, that Pepper case really took it out of us" he added.

"Us?" Gregson replied his face crumpling into a frown.

"Yes. Oh, we haven't told anyone. Miss Watson is no longer my sober companion. She is from now on my apprentice. I am training her up; she is an apprentice consulting detective."

Gregson seemed surprised by this revelation. Partly due to what he had just witnessed and partly because he didn't think Joan would give up being a sober companion.

"Would you like a drink?" Joan offered and Gregson agreed. He took off his coat and the trio settled in the kitchen, drinking tea that Sherlock had made for them. He insisted on making the tea at home, declaring rather ceremoniously that no one could make tea as well as a Brit. Joan rolled her eyes but did not complain. Gregson filled them in on a few cases that he had been given, nothing too interesting or too taxing. He finished his list and looked at the pair sat opposite him at the table. Sherlock's face looked different. Gone were the dark circles that once haunted his eyes and the smile that it wore gave it a youthful glow. His face shone with vitality. Gregson sighed and set down his mug on the table.

"Look, you two you're not fooling anybody."

"I'm sorry" hurriedly remarked Joan.

"I know you two have... a thing" he gestured together with his hands. "I've had my suspicions for a while and if you're not into telling anybody just yet well that's fine. I just want to say I am really happy for you both, Sherlock you look like a new man." Gregson cringed at his own chick-flick-esque comment but smiled none the less.

Joan beamed, the relief of someone knowing their secret radiated from her.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asked.

"You came into the station one time, you smelled like a woman. I passed it off as Joan's new cleaning habits around here, but the deal breaker was a snippet of what I heard just before I knocked today."

Joan's cheeks burned but Sherlock laughed.

"You smelled me? Why, I might make a good detective out of you after all Captain!"

Gregson shook his head mockingly and stood up to leave; Sherlock showed him to the door.

"I really am, you know, happy for you" Gregson said to him quietly in the hall as he put on his coat.

Sherlock smiled and shook Gregson's hand.

"We've certainly been through it despite the short space of time we've been together."

Gregson saw a flicker of sadness in Sherlock's blue eyes but he didn't question him.

...

"So, is the great wanderer returning then?" asked Bell.

"Yeah and this time he's got a partner in crime..." replied Gregson, glancing across to Bell whose face bore a confused expression.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'm just popping out" Sherlock called and Joan heard the front door slam. She shuffled out of bed and pulled on some less than attractive jogging pants. Plugging in her iPod she went downstairs and pulled out the duster and polish from under the sink and began to clean the house. She attempted to make some order from Sherlock's stack of papers and books. She threw away a very dubious looking experiment that had been resting on the windowsill for at least a month. Soon she was vacuuming and tidying the cupboards. After a short stop for lunch she resumed her cleaning, changing their bed in her room, folding laundry and putting on an assortment of loads of washing. By mid afternoon she was exhausted so she sank into the couch to read a magazine; although she couldn't help but look up and admire her work. The house looked more like a home now and not an office-come-science lab. Her work had tired her out though (as well as her and Sherlock's particularly amorous night) and she fell asleep on the couch as the magazine slipped to the floor.

She awoke to her face being licked.

"Ugh! Sherlock, stop that. That's gross!" She blinked her eyes open and saw not Sherlock but a furry brown face looking back at her. She recoiled and wiped her face with her sleeve. Sherlock was standing over her beaming with his hands behind his back, swaying slightly like he did when he was very excited.

"I got us a dog!" he announced proudly.

"You did what?"

Sherlock looked puzzled.

"I... got us a dog, you know 'woof!"

"I can see that" she said, sitting up and flicking her bed head hair away from her face. "Where did you get a dog?"

"The rescue centre. They ask surprisingly few questions when you offer to buy a dog rather than rescue one. So, this is Archibald"

The dog looked at Joan and wagged its tail.

"Archibald. Sherlock you can't call a dog Archibald, pretty sure that's some kind of animal cruelty. Don't you think Archie is a better name?"

Sherlock face said he didn't agree, but nodded nonetheless. Joan ruffled the fur on Archie's head and his tail wagged more feverishly.

"Sherlock, we don't have anything for a dog. He'll need a bed, a bowl... Why didn't you tell me you were getting a dog?"

"I thought it would be a nice surprise. I had a dog when I was young, Socrates. I have always found dogs to be far more loyal than most humans."

"Your dog was called Socrates. What, like the Greek philosopher? Well, I guess I will let him stay, but we will need to go shopping for things for him, first things first, a bed... Well there's that pet shop on 4th..."

"I thought he could just sleep on out bed?" Sherlock said, tipping his head slightly, clearly trying to win favour.

"No way. I am not having a germ infested dog sleeping on my, sorry _our_ bed." Archie backed away from Joan and went and stood behind Sherlock.

"You hurt his feelings!"

"I hurt his... Sherlock, it's a dog he can't understand full sentences."

"No. But they can sense emotions and right now he's sensing your hostility."

Joan threw back her head and sighed her patience was wearing thin. Sherlock muttered under his breath something about Socrates sleeping on his bed.

"I'm going to get dressed and then we will go shopping for Archie. By the way, did you even notice that I cleaned the house?"

Sherlock looked at down and Joan and smirked.

"Of course I noticed, it's me." He pointed to his face and then put his hands on his hips. She threw her arms up in the air and stormed upstairs just as Sherlock realised she was probably waiting for a thank you. He looked down at Archie and pulled an 'oops' face. Sherlock left the room and went into the kitchen to raid the fridge. When he returned (munching happily on a cube of cheese) Archie was sat in the middle of the room surrounded by shredded magazine.

"Oh Archie, she is going to be even more cross with us now." He blew out his cheeks and went in search of a dustpan.

...

"So who is going to walk Archie every day then?" Joan asked at dinner on returning from their shopping trip.

"I will, I enjoy going for a walk, clears my head of all the mindless nonsense it has accumulated during the day."

"And what about when you're working a case. Are you telling me you will drop it all to go out for a _jolly little walk around the park_?" She imitated his British accent with the last part of her sentence which Sherlock noted she did to try and get a reaction from him. Sherlock poked at his lasagne with his fork.

"Joan, I do know how to care for pets. Do you think looking after bees is a walk in the park?"

She sniggered at his choice of phrase and shrugged.

"Don't worry; Archie will be fine living out his golden years with us." He reassured.

...

Joan was first downstairs the next morning and the first to witness the devastation that Archie had reeked. There was paper and cushion stuffing everywhere. Sherlock's books had been pulled of the lower shelves of the bookcase and pages were strewn everywhere. Joan walked to the bottom of the stairs and called up to Sherlock. He emerged and gasped as he entered the room.

"My books! Look what he's done to my copy of 'Treasure Island'!"

Sherlock and Joan set about cleaning up as Archie watched on from his new bed.

...

The final straw came the next day. Joan was out visiting friends. Sherlock was in the kitchen when he heard a crash and the sound of smashing glass. Sprinting into the living room her found Archie sitting on his desk as Sherlock's ink well pooled ink over the items strewn across it. Sherlock let out a noise of shock and dived for the stack of papers that were piled next to the shattered remains of the ink well. He was too late and black ink dripped off of the paper that he had been writing on the effect of a disease on bees honey production. Archie wagged his tail and hopped off the desk, walking inky footprints over the glistening floor. Sherlock panicked and scooped him up only to cover his shirt in the ink. He ran and tipped Archie into the bath.

"Stay!" he ordered as he ran back downstairs with old towels in an attempt to absorb the ink that smothered the desk.

...

Joan returned to find Sherlock sitting on the floor wearing an ink stained shirt and surrounded by ink stained paper.

"I called the rescue centre; they have found Archie a new home with an elderly woman who has experience with 'problem dogs'."

"Ah" Joan replied, setting down her bag. "I was just starting to get used to the little guy."

Sherlock smiled.

"I can't even care for a dog, it's lucky we didn't have a baby really."

The words spilled over his lips before he had considered their implications. Joan stiffened and crossed her arms.

"How could you even... say something like that?" Tears filled her mocha eyes and she walked upstairs slowly. "It's like I don't even know you sometimes."

Sherlock put his head in his hands, annoyed at his own insensitivity and the unintentional hurt he had caused.


	18. Chapter 18

From the minute he stepped downstairs, Joan knew there was something wrong with Sherlock. He walked meekly into the kitchen and searched the cupboards for cereal and a half-clean bowl. He was silent, but not the 'thinking Sherlock' silent. Sat hunched at the kitchen table eating his cereal he had managed to fold his legs underneath himself. Joan watched him silently from the other side of the kitchen arms folded with her head tipped slightly to one side. She wasn't sure if he was ignoring her presence or simply wasn't aware that she was there. Swiftly he swung his legs from underneath himself and again searched the cupboards but this time emerged with a glass.

"Is this about the dog?" Joan asked finally.

Sherlock shook his head.

"If it is, don't worry about it, you weren't to know that he would wreck-"

"FORGET THE DOG!" Sherlock yelled and threw the glass he was holding onto the floor, shattering it.

Joan pressed herself against the wall. Her face contorted with a mix of confusion and fear.

The smashing of the glass had stirred something in Sherlock. He too looked shocked at his own actions and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I'm so sorry, I just..." Joan still stood frozen against the wall, steadying her breathing. Sherlock looked across at her at her vulnerability. Her shorts exposed her raw skin and made her look even more fragile. He also regarded the fear in her eyes and he was overwhelmed with remorse. Too embarrassed to say anything he bent down and began to pick up the fragments of glass. Joan approached him, carefully avoiding stepping on any glass and bent down so she was face-to face with Sherlock. He flicked his eyes from the ground into hers. He loved being this close to her, closer than anyone else ever was. So close he could practically count her eyelashes and follow the pattern of her freckles. Sighing he took her hand from her lap and held it, rubbing the back of it with his thumb to soothe her.

"It is the anniversary of Irene's death today."

Joan sighed with relief at her new understanding.

"I'm sorry Joan; you shouldn't have to play second fiddle to a dead woman. It is just hard for me to think I am a whole year further away from when I was last with her."

"Therefore you're a whole year closer to being with her again." She reassured.

"No."

"No?"

"I have you. I have something far better, Irene would understand. You are my eternity from now on." They looked at each other and smiled and began picking up the fragments of glass.

"Ahh" Joan hissed as a drop of blood beaded on her finger, sliced by a piece of glass. Sherlock took her hand in his, putting it in his mouth and sucking the blood off. He stood her up and led to her to the sink to wash off the blood.

"It's just a little cut Sherlock, don't worry about it." He gently dried it with paper towel and swept a piece of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. She was overwhelmed at his tenderness. Suddenly, she seized the top of his arms and with surprising force, pushed him into the wall, pressing a hard kiss onto his face. She kissed his neck and sank slowly to her knees pulling open his belt and his boxers down. She stood back up and pushed him onto the kitchen table, climbing on top of him, pulling off her own shorts.

"On the kitchen table, tut this isn't very hygienic is it Miss Watson."

"You weren't worried about that when you were sucking my blood a minute ago. Now lie back and enjoy." Sherlock closed his eyes and they were soon both on the edge. She seized his wrists and they tipped over together, sweaty and satisfied.

"I haven't seen spontaneity like that from you since that first night" Sherlock whispered.

"Just keeping things interesting. Ready to go again?"

"Haha, I'm just a man Joanie."

"Ok then, let's talk instead." She said sliding off of him and putting her shorts back on.

"I changed my mind, let's go again!"

"Nice try." She led through into the living room and sat on the sofa. "I want you to meet my parents. I know you've met them before, but I want you to meet them as my partner."

"No problem."

"Really?"

"I'd be happy to". Joan looked delighted and swept upstairs to shower. Despite her smile Sherlock could not help but feel nervous sensing that Joan's parents would not be impressed by her choice of partner.

...

"Sherlock! Are you ready?" Joan called upstairs, fastening her earrings shut. He jogged downstairs fiddling with the cufflinks of his suit. He caught sight of her and stopped mid step. Her hair was up in a knot, extenuating her neck. She wore a black dress that came just above her knees and was cinched in at the waist. He was consistently blown away by her timeless beauty.

"Why do I have to wear a suit?" he grumbled.

"We are going to an expensive restaurant Sherlock, you can't show up in your scruffy trousers and t-shirt."

"I'll drive" she said, rummaging around her handbag for her keys.

"No you won't, I'll drive, I suspect that you will want a glass of wine to steady your nerves." He took the keys from her and they exited the house. He put his arm in hers and intertwined their hands. When they got to Joan's car, he walked around to the passenger side and opened her door for her.

"You know, we never did get a first date. I guess we could treat this evening like one."

"Yeah, we'll just pretend that my parents the third and fourth wheels aren't there!"

They both laughed and set off for the restaurant.

...

Joan's parents were already at the restaurant, sat with their backs to Joan and Sherlock as they arrived.

"Now Sherlock remember, no being cheeky, try to be polite and just nod along to what they say. I apologise in advance for the interrogation you're about to receive."

"I have met them before Joan. It is going to be fine." Joan steadied her breathing and swept a crease out of her dress before walking up to the table for four.

"Mom, Dad, you know Sherlock"

"Hello" Sherlock waved, offering a hand to Mr Watson who shook it, Sherlock then took Mrs Watson's hand and kissed it. She smiled. Sherlock pulled out Joan's chair and she sat.

"So Sherlock, I did some googling on you when Joan told us that you two were in a relationship."

"Oh my God Dad" Joan sighed.

"Oh?" replied Sherlock.

"So you solve crimes then, but you're not a police officer."

"No I am a consulting detective" he announced proudly.

"And an ex addict" interjected Mr Watson. An awkward silence ensued and Joan shuffled in her seat, wishing the ground would swallow her, or a UFO would beam her away...

"I am yes. But almost one year sober, that is my past."

"And your future? How are you planning to provide for my daughter? Do the police pay you for your work?"

"Dad, I'm a grown woman, stop with the interrogation. What have you and mom been up to then?" she said steering the conversation away from Sherlock.

Mr and Mrs Watson began to explain about their recent holiday and Sherlock excused himself to go to the loo. When he was out of earshot Joan rounded on her parents.

"What the hell was that about?"

"Sorry Joan but we are just concerned. First you were a surgeon, then a minder or 'sober companion' as you say and now you're dating a junkie with no proper job and what he does do looks very dangerous. We never hear from you anymore too. Is he hurting you, making you stay? You can tell us."

"What the... no Sherlock isn't _hurting_ me. I love him. He is intelligent, compassionate, and he loves me. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Joan felt eyes her eyes burning with tears and she stood up. "I'm sorry that he isn't good enough for you, and I'm sorry that I'm not either, I'm sorry I'm no longer a big shot surgeon but Sherlock and his line for work makes me happier than I have ever been. If that's not good enough for you well..." She snatched up her purse just as Sherlock arrived back. "We're leaving" she said and strode away from the table.

"It's uh... been nice meeting you again Mr and Mrs Watson" and Sherlock too exited the restaurant. Joan was standing impatiently by her car waiting for Sherlock. He unlocked the car and she got in.

"Joan, do you think it was a good idea to fall out with your parents like that?"

"I don't care, if they can't accept me...us, well then I don't want to see them."

Her face however, told another story.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock felt some guilt for invading Joan's privacy like this but the necessity of the situation outweighed the guilt. He continued to delve into Joan's handbag, pulling out body spray, a hairbrush, purse and finally what he was looking for – her address book. He thumbed through it and found her parent's address, after making a note of it he put the rest of the belongings back into the bag. He went to replace the address book but something caught his eye, he pulled out a picture – the picture of which he had the same – the ultrasound picture. He saw the writing on the back and felt a pang of sadness, he slipped it back into the address book and put it back into her bag, zipping it back up.

...

He approached the polished black door and hovered before knocking. He closed his eyes and drummed on the door, waiting for the impending footsteps the other side. Soon he was greeted by Mrs Watson's puzzled face.

"Oh hello Mrs Watson, could I come in?" She paused before answering.

"Yes I guess, please excuse the mess."

Sherlock entered the house which was far from a mess. It had a minimalistic style with clean lines and gleaming surfaces. Small metal ornaments decorated floating shelves and a large black piano stood proudly in the corner of the room. Classical music played quietly in the background as the pair stood awkwardly in the living room. The only mess Sherlock could see was a few interior design magazines on the coffee table.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No, it's ok I just came to talk to you and Mr Watson about yesterday really."

"He's not home."

"Ah that's okay, I'm sure you can relay what I have to say to him." Mrs Watson gestured to the settee and they both sat down.

"I wanted to say, I know I am not perfect and I can see from your perspective I am far from a good fit for your daughter. I am an ex addict with a made-up job, dangerous line of work and irregular source of income. But let me tell you this. I love Joan more than I have ever loved anyone before, I intend to spend the rest of my life with her and I understand that I need time to prove my worth to both you and Mr Watson. But please, do not let me come between you and Joan, I could never forgive myself if I was the reason to drive you apart."

Mrs Watson had been staring hard at Sherlock as he spoke. She swallowed and then said:

"That was heartfelt and I am glad that you understand our concerns, it's clear to me though how much you love Joan and that is reason enough for me now. My husband may take more convincing but I am sure that I can convince him" she winked and laughed breathlessly – _just as Joan does_ Sherlock thought. "Look after her, because believe me if she is hurt, you better start running boy." She smiled but Sherlock could see the integrity of her speech so he nodded solemnly.

...

That evening Sherlock and Joan were sitting together when Joan's mobile sung with an incoming csll, she looked down at the caller ID and went upstairs to answer it. After a short while she returned and flung herself back onto the settee.

"Thank you" she said turning to tilt her head up to Sherlock who had put his arm around her shoulders.

"What for?"

"For talking to my parents" he tried to interrupt but she continued "I know you did, they wouldn't have changed their minds that quickly otherwise."

"So you're okay with them now?"

"Yes. Just don't mess me around or I fear my Mom may just kill you."

"Give me dangerous criminals any day" he joked and she punched his arm in mock anger. Quick as a flash he grabbed her and pushed her onto the sofa, pinning her under his weight and tickling her neck. She screamed and laughed and flailed her legs as they grappled. He looked down at her face which was pink with laughter and gently placed a kiss on her lips. She stopped wiggling and cupped his face in her hands and returned his kiss with another.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes."

"And I love you Joan Watson."

...

The following day, Sherlock and Joan walked arm in arm to the police station to help Captain Gregson with a new case. As they pushed through the station doors there was a slight hush followed by rustling and whispering as people fished through their pockets and bags in search of their purses and wallets. Joan and Sherlock turned to the Captain for an explanation.

"They heard about you two. They wanted evidence before they all started to pay up."

Sherlock looked around and saw delighted faces receiving handfuls of notes and begrudging faces handing them over.

"They had bets, whether you two would ever get it together. It was pretty split actually. Some thought Sherlock would never find anyone to melt that ice – not even you Joan. Whislt others thought and sorry for saying this Joan; that well you were too hot for him to resist."

Joan laughed and Sherlock said somewhat indignantly:

"I'm not just with Joan for her looks you know, although that does help." Joan laughed and playfully tapped his arm. "Am I going to have to tickle you again Miss Watson?" he whispered, she bit her lip and shook her head pretending to be scared. Many of the police officers looked visibly shocked at the affection between them a couple even whistled.

"Yeah yeah yeah, settle down folks, back to work, Holmes, Joan the case..."


	20. Chapter 20

The trio walked into the office and Joan took a seat in front of Gregson's desk as Gregson walked around the office, pulling down the blinds; much to the disappointment of the prying eyes outside. Gregson then sat down behind his desk and began rooting through the drawers, pulling out pieces of paper, forms and stationary. Sherlock looked absent mindedly around the room, swaying on the balls of his feet.

"So this case then?" Sherlock asked, trying to initiate conversation.

"What? Oh right, yeah..." Gregson continued to search through the drawers of his desk. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Gregson's distraction. He sat down next to Joan and sighed loudly. He was already bored having only been in the office for a few minutes. Finally, it appeared that Gregson had found what he was looking for as the shuffling had stopped.

He stood up and pointed a gun at Sherlock and Joan.

Joan let out a strangled gasp and Sherlock pulled her up from her seat, shielding her with his body.

"Gregson what the f-"

Gregson didn't say anything. He continued to point the gun at them, staring hard at Sherlock. Sherlock could feel Joan shaking as she pressed herself against his back. Sherlock tried to make sense of the situation. Gregson had called them here for a case and now he was pointing a gun at them. Doubts crossed Sherlock's mind, had Gregson been a criminal this whole time? No. He wasn't about to kill them both in a police station, filled with police officers. Sherlock's mind raced, desperately seeking a solution, an explanation. He looked into Gregson's eyes.

And the solution came.

Gregson was blinking rapidly, looking intently at Sherlock.

_Morse code._ Gregson was blinking Sherlock a message.

I-m-s-o-r-r-y.

Sherlock tipped his head in confusion. Sorry?

T-h-e-y-h-a-v-e-m-y-f-a-m-i-l-y.

They?

Why can't you speak? Sherlock blinked back.

C-a-m-e-r-a-l-e-f-t-h-a-n-d-c-o-r-n-e-r.

Subtly, Sherlock glanced up and saw a small camera, fitted into the corner of the ceiling. He scoped the room, there was no where that the camera couldn't see. So he stepped forward, blocking the camera's view of Gregson with his own body. With his gun-free hand, Gregson slipped Sherlock a piece of paper, using the tiniest of head movements, Sherlock looked down and saw it was an address.

"Gregson, please, let Joan go, this is between us" said Sherlock, playing along for the camera.

Gregson gave a small nod and Sherlock ushered Joan to the door, handing Joan the piece of paper that Gregson had just given him. Dropping his voice to just above audible and speaking as fast as he could he said: "Someone has Gregson's family, get the police to go here, call me when it is all okay." He pushed her out of the door and closed it. Sherlock returned to his seat and sat down. Gregson too sat down, keeping the gun pointed at Sherlock. They both waited for their ordeal to be over.

...

Within a few minutes Joan had rounded up some officers to head to the address that Sherlock had given her, obscured from the view of the camera by his back. She had warned them not to go into the office- worried that Gregson would be forced to shoot someone. After some persuasion they had relented and called the specialised armed police in. As she sat in the back of the wailing police car she couldn't help but feel relieved. Relieved that Gregson wasn't a criminal and willing to betray and kill them both. Finally they arrived at the address and the armed police stormed inside. After a few moments three shots rang out. Joan prayed that it wasn't Gregson's family that was on the receiving end and followed in after the rest of the police officers.

Three men lay dead on the floor and Gregson's wife and two daughters sat cowering. A female officer ran over to them and guided them outside.

"They had their guns pointed at Gregson's family. They said either Sherlock died or the women did." One of the armed officers informed Joan. "Luckily, we're a faster shot!" he added.

Joan looked down at the three dead men and took out her phone to call Sherlock.

"It's okay, his family is safe and the men who had them are dead."

Back at the police station, Gregson heard Joan's words and trembled with relief. Without blinking he aimed his gun at the camera in the corner and fired, blasting it to pieces. Sherlock jumped and covered his face to protect himself from flying pieces of camera. Gregson removed something from his ear and set it down on the desk

"I'm so sorry Sherlock, I didn't know what to do. They had me bugged somehow, they were telling me things that I had said to other people" he pointed at the earpiece on the table. "I found this on my desk with a note to wear it and do exactly as they said, or my family would die. They told me to do exactly as they said or they would... And then they told me about the camera in my office and _my family... _The only way they could be safe was if I killed you. I was never going to shoot you, please believe me. I knew that you would come up with a solution, how to get us all out of this. I can't believe that I had to put you and Joan through this."

Gregson looked crestfallen.

"I'm sure we'll recover. As will your family. Any ideas who it was?"

"None, I never heard any names. Clearly someone is out to get you."

Sherlock nodded, his mind immediately turning to Joan...


	21. Chapter 21

**_Sorry this took so long everyone, I have had exams. In a few weeks I will be able to update much more often. Please review, I love hearing your feedback and where you want this story to go next. _**

* * *

"C'mon Sherlock just decide!"

"I'm not sure... the blue I guess..."

"Really? Because I like the turquoise more."

Sherlock sighed. Joan was asking his opinion (or at least pretending to) on what colour to paint their bedroom. She had grown weary of the Brownstone's well, brown walls and drab interior. Sherlock sat next to her on the bed, bored rigid, thumbing through colour charts and paint tester strips.

"The turquoise, of course, why didn't I say that?" he joked. "Seriously, paint it whatever colour makes you happy, colours mean nothing to me in a house. They just distract me from my thought processes. Unnecessary brain stimulation that I then have to deal with."

Joan looked across at him completely bemused. "You're against colour now?"

"Not against it no. It serves its purposes."

"Whatever. You want to come to the store to buy the paint with me?"

"No thanks. I trust your artistic judgement completely." He leant over and squeezed her leg, pressing a small kiss into her neck.

"Ok then, try to clean up at least a little whilst I'm gone."

With a final kiss she was gone, leaving Sherlock still on the bed pondering the mess around him. To appease Joan he collected up the clothes scattered over the floor (mostly his) and opened the curtains, in his eyes the room looked remarkably better so he went downstairs to sort out some of his TVs from his store cupboard to practice his memory improving techniques.

Joan returned an hour later to find him sat in front of a dozen TVs, apparently listening to them all at once. He was shirtless with his back to her.

"You know. This is almost identical to the first time we met." He said without turning to look at her.

She set down the cans of paint and took off her coat. "How could I forget? You asked me if I believed in love at first sight. I nearly keeled over from shock."

"Why? Was it my devilishly good looks?"

"Well it certainly wasn't your modesty was it? No, it was... it was just instantly I knew you were different from all the other addicts that I had worked with before. Don't get me wrong, most of them were lovely people but you were immediately different. I don't know what it was... You were interesting, enigmatic. It was..."

"My devilish good looks, I already told you that!"

"Shut up" she laughed throwing her pink beanie hat at him, he caught it with his left hand and jammed it on his head, Joan couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the man she loved. Shirtless, wearing a pink beanie hat surrounded by twelve TVs all on different channels.

"I thought I asked you to clear up a little" she said with only a tinge of exasperation. She hadn't actually expected him to tidy up but part of her had remained hopeful.

"I did!"

"Sherlock, getting a dozen TVs out of the cupboard does not constitute clearing up."

"Go and check the bedroom then."

"Let me guess, you put the clothes in the washing basket and opened the curtains?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but instead replaced it with a scowl. "I knew it was a mistake to teach you deductive skills."

"It's not my 'deductive skills' that gave me that knowledge, I know you better than you know you now."

"That is not true."

"Really? Okay let me see. You got up, had cereal for breakfast, went to the bathroom, put the shower on so I would think that you were in the shower but really you messed around for a good ten minutes, you showered got out and decided to just put on one of the shirts that you found on the floor. We discussed the colour samples, I left, and you put the clothes in the laundry bin and then came down here to get the TVs out."

"That just proves that I am a creature of habit, not how well you know me. I on the other hand know much more about you?"

"Such as?"

"The perfume that you wear, you wear it because it reminds you of your grandmother. You wear heeled shoes not because you're excessively small but because you felt the need to compete with your brother and subconsciously, improving your height aided this. You have a sensitive spot, right below your clavicle..."

"Okay okay I get it!" she blushed.

"Joanie, no one else is here, don't worry!"

"It's very difficult to take you seriously whilst you're still wearing my pink hat Sherlock."

"I thought it was very becoming on me." He stood up and began to shake his hips as if dancing to unheard music.

"You're crazy."

"Crazy's relative."

"Did you just... Never mind. It's lucky you decided to lose your shirt anyway, you won't want to get it dirty whilst you're helping me paint."

"What? Oh come on Joan, I was going to phone Gregson to see if there had been any leads on my mortal enemy."

"Your 'mortal enemy'? What are you, a children's cartoon character? You know there haven't been any leads, like there hasn't been any for the past three and a half weeks. Gregson said he would call you if he found anything. You've barely slept looking for leads too, up all night reading and searching the internet. But," she added before he could protest "you're not going to worm out of helping me paint _our _bedroom. So grab a can of paint and get your ass upstairs."

"I do love it when you talk nasty to me." He grinned. She too smirked and shook her head.

He removed the beanie hat from his head and placed it on Angus, grabbed a can of paint and walked begrudgingly upstairs.

...

Together they packed up the bedroom, putting clothes in boxes and moving the furniture into the now spare bedroom. Joan instructed and Sherlock was the muscle, pushing the furniture out of the room.

"You do realise you're asking one of the world's greatest minds to be a painter and decorator."

"We've been together _how long_ and still you have not learnt to be the least bit humble? Perhaps you can put that big brain of yours to good use by picking up a paintbrush and getting to work."

"It's not actually only the size of the brain that determines intelligence, it's a number of factors such as_"

He stopped as her face turned to reveal one of thin patience. They painted in silence for a while, although he would never admit it, Sherlock enjoyed menial tasks such as painting, no distractions or deductions. Joan broke the silence.

"I've been thinking, it would be nice for the two of us to go on holiday. Have you ever actually been on holiday Sherlock?"

"When I was a kid I did, cases got in the way after that. Where did you want to go?"

"Well I was thinking... it would be nice for the two of us to go to London."

"So not really a holiday for me then. I will just be returning home."

"Don't you have any friend or family that you would like me to meet?"

"Not really." He paused and put down his paintbrush. "Although it would be nice to show you around my home city, the greatest city in the world!"

"Don't say that too loudly in New York, you might get jumped. Are you sure that you don't mind leaving the case for a holiday?"

"No like you said, I haven't found anything for three weeks; I guess I will have to wait for a clue to find me. Besides, I will just be swapping one case for another!"

She groaned and flicked a fleck of paint at him "That, was a terrible pun."

"Agreed. Sorry."

"Oh I forgot I got a little something else for the bedroom. It's in the car." She rested her paintbrush on top of the tin of paint and left only to return with a large box in her hands.

"Don't keep me in suspense, is it a stripper?!"

"What, no! Why would I get you a stripper? Where would we keep a stripper in the bedroom? And as if I could carry one up the stairs!"

"I feel you have though through the practicalities of this too much my love..."

"Just open the box."

Sherlock tore at the box and pulled out the contents which was buried deep in packing foam . It was a canvas. One half of the canvas was the London Skyline and the other was the New York Skyline. In the middle of the picture the two skylines cleverly merged together. A fusion of grey oblongs. Sherlock gazed at it mesmerised as if recollecting a painful memory.

"I thought it summed up our worlds coming together" Joan said happily.

"It's like it was painted for us. Well, I had better book us some plane tickets then. Welcome to London Joanie!"

* * *

_**So Holmes and Watson are heading to London, my home city! TGWTK **_


	22. Chapter 22

The plane touched down onto the tarmac with a screech and steadily came to a halt. Joan peered out of the rain stained windows.

"I could have placed money on it raining" Sherlock said glumly.

"I'm sure the weather will improve."

"I wouldn't count on it." Sherlock stood up to retrieve his and Joan's hand luggage from the overhead compartment. As they waited for the front of the plane to clear Sherlock sat down and rested his hand in Joan's. Her face brightened.

"Please tell me where we're staying Sherlock."

"Nope, it is still a surprise. Have you decided what things you would like to do whilst you're in London yet?"

"The usual tourist things. London Eye, Tower of London, Houses of Parliament..."

"Well I also have a few things planned."

The front of the plane cleared and Sherlock and Joan walked off the plane.

"Enjoy your stay" said the flight attendant with a smile.

"Gosh" Joan said quietly "I know how you feel now being the foreigner in New York."

"Ah yes the British accent. Although many Americans associate Britain with _my _stereotypical British accent, I would love for them to hear a Geordie or Mancunian accent."

"A what?"

"Someone from Newcastle or Manchester."

"I see."

After passport control they reclaimed their luggage and reached the front of the airport. People bustled in shaking off their umbrellas and shouting after excited children. Sherlock started to walk towards the group of people waiting to collect clients the group was mostly people working for travel agencies and taxi drivers. Sherlock made a bee line for a man holding a sign saying "Hotson."

"Hotson?" Joan asked.

"I couldn't resist. It's Holmes/Watson!"

Joan laughed and buried her face in her hands. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. You're mad Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock _HOTSON" _he corrected mockingly.

"Damn, you are hot son" she replied with a wink. He pretended to gag and turned to the man.

"Taxi for Hotson?" He was dressed in a dark grey suit. His thin rimmed spectacles made his small face look even smaller and his watery blue eyes did not reveal the light of a man who enjoyed his job.

"Sorry, there must have been an uh mistake. I think you mean Holmes."

"Whatever." The man turned and walked out of the airport. Joan and Sherlock followed, Sherlock had insisted on pulling Joan's case too which rather slowed him down. He flagged behind Joan, awkwardly struggling with the two cases, his chivalry literally holding him back.

"Joan! What have you packed in this thing?"

"Just a few clothes, the weather in England can be very changeable!"

"Not _this_ changeable" he grumbled, jogging to catch up with her and the taxi driver. They reached the taxi and Sherlock helped the man load the cases into the boot of the taxi.

"See Joanie, it's called a boot over here, not a trunk."

"Don't patronise me, asshole." She said it with no malice but Sherlock decided to lay off the ribbing of her American nationality for now. He held the door of the taxi open as she climbed in. Although the rain had stopped, the grey clouds remained as they set off towards central London. Eventually they passed Trafalgar square and Joan stretched her neck out of the window, trying to see the top of Nelson's column. Sherlock noted that the driver seemed to be taking them the scenic route to their destination but he didn't mind as Joan got a sneak preview of the best of London. As they approached their hotel Joan was stunned into silence.

"I take it you have heard of _this_ place then?"

The Ritz hotel stood proudly in front of them.

"How..." Joan whispered.

"Ah the manager owed me a favour. So for a few days we get to stay here."

A man stepped forward and opened the taxi door.

"Good afternoon Sir, Madam. Welcome to the Ritz Hotel."

He took Joan's hand and helped her step out of the taxi. Another man opened the boot and took out their suitcases.

Joan stood on the pavement incredulous that she was going to stay at The Ritz.

"Don't we need to pay the taxi driver?"

"Oh no, I already paid him."

The taxi drove away without a goodbye and Sherlock gestured for Joan to enter the hotel. A third man dressed in his dark uniform pushed open the door for her and the pair walked inside. The elegance of the hotel was not lost even on Sherlock. Surfaces gleamed. Rich reds and grand golds greeted them. Sherlock took her arm and walked to the reception desk. The dark haired woman behind it greeted them warmly. "Good afternoon and welcome to The Ritz hotel. How can I help you?"

"Hello, I have a room booked under the name Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."

A few taps on her computer keyboard and the receptionist nodded. "I have your booking here Sir. Your room is on the 3rd floor. Matthew will take you." A man stepped towards them, and guided them to the lifts. Pushing the button, the lift arrived and Sherlock and Joan were transported to the 3rd floor. Matthew stepped out of the lift and walked to room 21. He swiped a card through the key-card lock and there was a click, handing the card to Joan he nodded and left, striding back to the lift. His whole job seemed perfectly rehearsed. Joan looked up at Sherlock beaming and pushed open the door, scurrying past Sherlock into the room.

It did not disappoint.

Joan's jaw hit the floor. She had never seen luxury like it. The wealth in this one room eclipsed anything she had ever experienced; it paled her surgeon's salary into small change. A queen sized bed was pushed up against the wall on the right hand side. On the far wall were floor to ceiling windows and plush curtains and furnishings decorated the room. The curtains were drawn and the lamps on either side of the bed were on giving the room a warm orange glow. Two chairs were angled towards a large flat screen TV on the wall opposite the bed. Joan walked through a door to the left of the TV into the en suite. An enormous bath took up much of the room and the white marble grinned at Joan. White towels and rows of products completed the room. Practically skipping, she walked back into the main room.

"Sherlock, it's stunning."

"I thought you might like it."

He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up off the ground throwing her gently onto the bed. The bed consumed her tiny frame and the duvet swallowed her up.

"If you weren't so bloody proud and accepted a few more of the bonuses offered by the clients on your cases then we might be able to stay places like this more often."

"That would ruin the novelty wouldn't it?"

Joan slid off her shoes just as a knock at the door delivered their cases. Joan heaved hers into the room and clicked it open. "If I had known we were coming somewhere so lovely I would have packed nicer clothes. Perhaps we could go shopping?"

"Dear God, not more clothes!"

He picked up his suitcase and clicked it open to reveal another surprise. Joan's nicest clothes, her best dresses and skirts, all neatly folded.

"I knew you would complain about not having your best clothes, so I took the liberty of packing them for you."

"That's so thoughtful! But what about your clothes?"

Sherlock took Joan's clothes out to reveal a few pairs of trousers and a few t shirts at the bottom of the case. "I'm sorted."

"You thought of everything."

Joan crawled over to where Sherlock was sitting and kissed him hard on the lips. "But you know you don't have to buy my affection."

"I do know that." He returned her kiss with another more passionate one. Eventually there were tearing each other's clothes off and Joan was once again thrown onto the bed. Joan dug her nails into Sherlock's back as they rocked together. As they finished Sherlock covered Joan's mouth with a kiss – "We don't know how thin the walls are here!"

...

Afterwards they lay on the bed together, Joan in Sherlock's arms. Joan was contemplating dinner as Sherlock spoke.

"I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous but I know that we've been together a year now..."

"Yes."

"So before we left I took the liberty of um... Well you see I had to call in a few more favours..."

"Sherlock, go on."

"Marry me."

"I'm sorry?"

"Joan...Watson, will you marry...me?"


	23. Chapter 23

Joan paused.

"You hesitated. I'm sorry it's too soon isn't it. Forget it."

"No it's just... I never thought you would ask me. You always said you weren't the type to get married. I'm just shocked."

"Good shocked or-?"

"Yes, good shocked. My answer is yes! Of course I'll marry you!" He pulled her into a tighter embrace and she squealed.

"You do have a few decisions to make though. I um, pre-booked a registry office just in case you wanted to get married here in the UK. You have to live here for at least 7 days though. Or we can wait until we get back to the states, what would you prefer?"

Joan considered. "I want my family there. My friends too. Would it be okay to wait until we get back home?"

"Of course, whatever you want. It is customary for a bride to get married in her home town too. But we can still have fun here! We have a ring to shop for of course..."

"Surely not in the shops around here?"

"If your heart so desires. I've been saving for a while. I do accept the occasional... gift from a client. Sold a few of my properties too."

"You have properties? Wait if you had properties why are you living in an apartment paid for by your father."

"_Had_ properties. And what my Father doesn't know can't hurt him. Although we may have to buy the Brownstone off him at some point. Bit awkward us living scot-free in his house. I don't like relying on him too. He has often proved himself unreliable."

"True. I might have to get a job."

"You have a job, working with me."

"One that pays a regular income Sherlock."

"No, I'll keep you as my kept woman. Chained barefoot in the kitchen."

"Yeah I'd bet you'd love that."

"Speaking of kitchens I'm starving, what say we go down for dinner?"

"Ok. I may have to get dressed first."

"Gah, clothes are boring, why don't you give the old men downstairs something to look at?!"

"Har har. Right Mr. Smarty-pants, what dress do you _deduce_ that I am going to choose?" Without looking at any of the dresses Sherlock said: "the black one with the large yellow flower across the hip."

"Bugger."

"I'm right. Of course I'm right. Also, 'bugger'? My britishisms are rubbing off on you."

"Yeah, whatever! C'mon get up and get dressed, I'm hungry."

...

After being treated to a meal that Joan described as "magnificent" Sherlock took Joan shopping for a ring. Despite it being early evening many of the shops were still open and Joan pulled Sherlock into each jewellery shop, browsing their ring selection.

When she saw the one she wanted, she knew immediately. A simple platinum band was adorned with a number of small diamonds inset, with a larger diamond in the middle. Nothing too tacky or flashy, but beautiful enough to catch attention. As the man whispered into Sherlock's ear the price of the ring Joan realised how far they had come since the start of their relationship. Looking at the ring it reflected back their recent past to her; from her kidnap, to losing their baby, Sherlock's breakdown about Irene but also (more recently) Gregson's family's ordeal. Joan wandered to the back of the shop, pretending to look at the other jewellery, but her gaze still fixed at the ring on her finger. She practiced in her head saying "_Mrs Joan Holmes". _She pictured their joint bank account and their 'Mr and Mrs' towels. She doubted that Sherlock would buy into the gimmick of the towels but she could dream. In her head she was also drawing up a guest list to the wedding, flicking through mental pictures of venues that she had already secretly made a note of. Attention divided, she bumped into a woman who was looking at the other jewellery.

"Oh sorry." Joan apologised breathlessly.

"It's no trouble" the woman replied curtly. Sherlock looked over at Joan to ask her a question that was quickly forgotten.

He dropped his wallet on the counter with a residing thud. He took a step back and staggered over to Joan, seizing the tops of her arms with his hands. His eyes fixed on the woman Joan had bumped into and who was now leaving the shop.

"No no no. It's not possible...Joan. It's... Irene. IRENE!"

The woman paused at the entrance of the shop and turned.

"Oh hello darling."


	24. Chapter 24

And in that moment, Joan's world came crashing down.

"Irene, that's not... she's dead?"

"Sherlock, you do know how to pick them. Of course I'm not dead, I'm standing right here very much alive."

Sherlock let his hands fall from their place on Joan's arms to his side. The man behind the counter of the jewellery shop looked alarmed and confused. Sherlock saw his hands hovering below the desk, no doubt ready to push the panic button and call the police at the first sign of trouble. Sherlock walked slowly over to Irene and cupped her small face in his hands. His face was screwed up with confusion and pain. Any initial relief that he had felt at seeing her alive had been replaced with hurt and turmoil. Irene did not soften at his touch; she stood still with her arms at her sides as he gazed down at her face that was still held in his hands.

"Irene you're alive." His voice broke slightly. "You're alive." He hissed the anguish and pain of her years of absence was clear to hear in his tone. "And you're accent, you're... you're_"

"British yes. My American accent is good enough to fool all apparently. Not even Sherlock Holmes could spot it." She removed his hands from her face and took a step to her left to get a clearer view of Joan who was still standing at the back of the shop. "Ah who's this then? Your_" her eyes flicked down to Joan's new ring "_Fiancée_? Congratulations. I must say I find this all very interesting really."

"Interesting? Why's it interesting?" Joan asked still dumbfounded to be speaking to a woman _the_ woman she had been told was dead.

"Sweetheart look at you. You're my polar opposite; dark haired, Asian, American. It's almost as if Sherlock has gone out of his way to find someone who is completely my opposite. But to be fair he did think _I_ was American, so I'll let him off that one."

Sherlock's voice was breaking, the words choked him "I don't understand. You're dead, there was_ so much blood_. I mourned you for, _years_. And you're here and, _no remorse?_ I can't... why? You love me!"

Sherlock reeled. This wasn't his Irene. His Irene wasn't cruel or venomous, she was independent yes but never vicious. Yet here she stood, tearing chunks off of Joan, who was standing defensively, fidgeting with the ring that graced her ring finger. How could Irene even be alive? It simply was not possible. Sherlock wanted to feel joyous, elated that _his_ Irene had returned to him. During particularly bad drug hallucinations she would return to him and care for him; softly soothing away his pain. But then he would come down and she would fade into nothingness but his distress would not. He wanted answers. But Irene was giving none. Sherlock wanted to scream: HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? He took a moment to pause and said eventually:

"Don't you think we should go somewhere more private?" He pleaded, acutely aware of the now terrified shop assistant.

"Oh I was just starting to have fun. But, if you insist."

"Joan, go back to the hotel. I'll be back soon."

"Sherlock I don't think this is a good idea, she's... clearly not who you thought she was."

"I need to know Joan." He looked across the shop directly at her, his eyes pleading. He needed answers. His grief over the years at Irene's passing was culminating and swirling together, creating a tornado of anger and pain. Joan could see it in his eyes. The raging tornado, threatening to tear away the foundations of Sherlock's sobriety and stability. The very foundations that they had built their relationship on.

Sherlock needed his answers.

He turned back to Irene. "We'll go somewhere public."

"If you're worried about me _harming_ you in any way I know approximately 10 ways to kill a person undetected in public. And I know others who know more. Sherlock, if I had wanted you dead don't you think I would have done it a long time ago?" She shuffled in her bag and pulled out a piece of card onto which she scrawled an address of a cafe. "Meet me here in half an hour." With that she left, her hair bouncing behind her as she exited. Sherlock's knees gave in and he staggered to one side, Joan ran forward to support him. As she had been a mental support in the past she was a physical one now.

The shop assistant picked up a phone "Do you need me to call the police, she was talking about killing you?!"

Sherlock gave a small shake of the head and left the shop. The shop assistant closed the door behind them and locked it. The evening had fully set in now and Joan shivered in the breeze.

"I don't understand Joanie. My Irene is alive but, that's not her. Well that is the real her. The one I knew must have been an identity a... persona. How? I loved her. She _faked_ her own death and now she shows up in London years later."

"Shhhh. You don't know any of that for sure yet." Joan soothed. "You can go to see her, speak to her." Sherlock stiffened and straightened up, apparently composed. He took a deep breath and pulled Joan towards him for a hug.

"Whatever happens Joan, I meant what I said in the kitchen a few months ago; you and me for eternity. She is and will always be my past, and you are my future."

_She forced a smile. _


	25. Chapter 25

Despite her promise to go back to the hotel, Joan was not going to just let Sherlock go to a cafe with a woman who clearly had so much to hide. So she followed behind Sherlock as he made his way to the cafe, unseen, she was lost amongst the crowds on the street. He reached the cafe and went inside. Through the window Joan saw him sat at a table with Irene. They were sat side- on at an angle. From the window so Joan could see both their faces, although the angle meant that she could see Irene's better, this gave Joan some comfort, she could see whatever Irene was doing. Joan hovered outside, pretending to be on her phone and checking herself in her mirror. All the while she was sneaking glances in the cafe, unsure what she would do if trouble did actually erupt from inside.

...

"So what is your real name then?" Sherlock asked, turning down Irene's offer of wine from the bottle that she was currently pouring herself.

"They call me Moriarty."

"They call you? So you're not going to tell me then?" Irene threw back her head and laughed, her blonde hair, falling past her shoulders and onto her black skirt-suit.

"You can call me Irene, sweetie."

"I don't understand. Why did you fake your own death?"

"You see, you were a project. A distraction. I had fully intended to kill you, I am somewhat of a big player in the criminal underworld here in London and across of the world for that matter. I lived well and without much trouble until you started to poke your nose into my business deals, getting some of my dear friends arrested! I simply couldn't have it anymore. So I engineered a plot to get our two paths to cross and then I would kill you off quietly. You dabbled in drugs so I had the idea to make it look like an overdose, no one would give it a second glance. But the more I got to know you the more I realised that I couldn't kill you, you were far too unique for me to destroy. I decided instead to 'kill myself'; I knew that would be enough to tip you over the edge and off of your detective ways for a while. I have since found out that you went a little more over the edge. Sorry about that. You dropped off of my radar and moved to New York. My plan had worked. But imagine my surprises when my sources told me that you had flown into London. I couldn't resist having one last look at that refined face of yours. I didn't want you to see _me_ though. Unfortunately that didn't exactly go to plan."

"That's bollocks. If you had wanted to see me covertly you would have. A small jewellery shop is not the place to be discreet. You wanted this to happen. Perhaps you think it will send me into a drug-fuelled spiral. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but that is not going to happen. So perhaps we should just part ways now."

"Weeeell maybe I did want to speak to you one last time. You were the most fun I had in a long time."

"Am I supposed to just believe that you're some kind of criminal mastermind then?"

"Sigh, okay let's see, some of the cases that you solved that weren't in the press... The David James affair, Susanna Colde abduction, Brett Luther – now that one really upset me, he was one of my best men! Now he's doing time in Pentonville. Shame really. They were all cases that you solved that I had arranged for clients. You were becoming quite the coin in my washing machine dear and I just couldn't have it any longer."

"Why not just kill me?"

"I told you, do try to keep up. You are interesting, intriguing, intricate, I couldn't just kill you. I realised through our time together that it would have been a squandering of this world's resources. Other people are just _so dull._ And you're not."

Sherlock smiled as a wave of realisation washed over him.

"I don't think that is quite true." He said, sipping from his glass of water.

"No?"

"No. I think that you fell in love with me. And you couldn't bring yourself to kill me because of that."

"Oh don't flatter yourself."

"Deny it all you want. But I simply cannot believe that even a small part of what we had was real. There is no way you could keep up pretence for that long if there wasn't a small piece of truth to it."

"Believe what you want."

"Was it you that tried to get Gregson's family killed? Or me killed for that matter."

"That police officer? Ohh no, that wasn't me. I was very cross when I heard about it though. I had put out specific instructions; no one is to harm Sherlock Holmes. I mean really, it's not that difficult to follow a simple instruction. Criminals these days, they are not as trustworthy as they used to be! But I want to know more about Fiancée dearest."

"Oh please, as if you couldn't find out everything about her if you wanted to."

"True. I want to hear it from you though."

Sherlock began to tell Irene that he wasn't going to discuss Joan when he became distracted. A small red dot had appeared on Irene's dark suit. It hovered and shook slightly and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Before Sherlock had time to warn Irene or even blink there was an ear-splitting crack and the sound of the cafe window smashing and Irene slipped from her chair onto the floor.

Pandemonium ensued inside the cafe.

...

Joan heard the crack of the gunshot and she covered her face as the cafe window smashed. She didn't have time to think before people began to scream and run from inside. Instinctively she ran inside, pushing past the swathes of people leaving. Sherlock was kneeling next to Irene who was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely from the chest. A small trickle of blood also came from her mouth, she gurgled.

"Oh my God."

"Joan... help" Sherlock croaked.

Joan knelt down and tore off her jumper, using it to put pressure on the wound, she also felt for Irene's wrist to feel for a pulse. It was weak. "Sherlock, listen to me. I need you to call for an ambulance and if you can I need you to find me some plastic film wrap."

Sherlock nodded and began to call 999 whilst leaping over the counter of the cafe to search for the plastic film. He gave the operator their address and routed through the cupboards.

"Sher-lock" Irene gasped.

"Sherlock!" Joan called. Sherlock leapt back over the counter and ran over to Irene; he pulled her head into his lap despite Joan's objections and pleads not to move her. He wept quietly. Despite the torment Irene had put him through; he couldn't help but breakdown at the thought of losing her again. Joan was cutting through Irene's top to reach the bullet wound.

"You-were-right." Irene said through increasingly ragged breaths. Sherlock stroked her face, smearing it with her blood that soaked his hands. "I-did-love you." Irene's last words left her lips and the ragged breaths stopped. Her eyes glazed over.

"No no no no" Sherlock repeated, pulling her in tighter and crying harder now. Joan stopped trying to treat the wound and looked up. At that moment the paramedics rushed in and Joan had to pull Sherlock away. He hugged her and wept and she rubbed his back. Joan heard the paramedics quietly confirm life extinct.

Sherlock had lost Irene for a second time and this time, it was forever.


	26. Chapter 26

**_Hello everyone! I've added a playlist to this chapter of songs that I listened to whilst writing (or songs you can listen to whilst reading if you want!) (Disclaimer: I don't own these songs)_**

**_Let Her Go – Foxes_**

**_Wonderful Life – Hurts_**

**_Picking Up the Pieces – Paloma Faith_**

**_Breezeblocks – Alt-J_**

* * *

The police came and took statements from them both. A doctor came to confirm life extinct. Sherlock stood numbly, answering their questions but all the while not really being aware of himself. It was almost as if when Irene had died, he had slipped from his own body and was watching himself from a distance. Joan tried to console him but the pain had not even set in yet. Eventually a police officer offered to drive them back to their home, Joan told him that they were staying at the Ritz.

"Listen with respect, I don't think the Ritz will be too pleased if you two rock up with all that blood. I know who you are Mr Holmes, I have heard all about you. If you want to, you're quite welcome to come to the station and clean up beforehand."

Joan thanked him and agreed. Sherlock just looked down at his bloodstained hands; they were all that he had left of Irene. They had already photographed the scene and taken her away. He pictured the red blood mixing with the water, pinking it and then watching it swirl down the drain. It was gruesome but he didn't want to let go. But then he looked across at Joan who was also bloodstained. She had fought so hard to save Irene, not panicking, just going into doctor mode. Joan would want to wash it away for to her, Irene was now a patient that she had lost. So Sherlock agreed to go to the police station and use their showers.

...

He stood naked, outside of the shower, hesitant.

Washing away her blood was like shredding her letters all over again. He knew he would regret it later.

_How could he have been so stupid_ _to have been taken in by 'Irene' and her scheme? For that matter, how could he be so stupid to stand mourning her for a second time after everything? _

Sherlock couldn't take it any longer.

He threw back his head and let out a scream. It was deep and sorrowful, he was screaming for all to hear, for Irene to hear.

But it wasn't Irene who heard.

Joan pushed open the door to the men's showers. She was clean and had borrowed a top from a kind stranger, to replace her bloodstained one.

"Sherlock?" she asked softly, tapping on one of the cubicle doors.

He opened it slowly and outstretched his arms, offering the bloodstains to her.

"I can't do it Joanie. I can't wash-her-away." His voice broke and he began crying again.

"Let her go Sherlock". She pulled him into a hug. Joan was catching a glimpse into vulnerable Sherlock. His nakedness and the bloodstains compounding this. "I know it's hard sweetie, but you can't torture yourself like this."

He broke free from the embrace and walked under the stream of water. The dried blood came away, pinked in the water and swirled away.

"I know she hurt you bad Sherlock and you have every right to grieve. But don't let her destroy you. Please."

...

"Woman like that would have had enemies. Wouldn't even know where to start to look for suspects if I was the British police." Gregson said to Joan, offering her a coffee from the personal coffee maker in his office. "And she said she knew who took my family?"

"Yeah, apparently she was annoyed about it; she had put out instructions for Sherlock to be left alone."

"So much for that. How is he taking it?"

"Not great. We flew back to New York the next day. He hasn't really mentioned it. Or anything for that matter. I'm just giving him space."

"That's probably the right thing to do. Watch him though please Joan..."

"Oh I know a relapse trigger when I see one."

...

Joan returned to the Brownstone to find Sherlock in the kitchen, cooking noodles.

"I was thinking Joan, you never did get a chance to tell your family about our engagement."

Joan frowned and took off her shoulder bag, setting it down on the kitchen counter.

He continued. "Call them, invite them out to dinner, I can't wait to tell them."

He was acting if nothing had changed.

"Sherlock, if you think it's too soon since... then that's ok. I can wait."

"No!" he said firmly, putting down the ladle he was using to stir the noodles. "Irene is gone. And if you ask me she got her comeuppance. I'm moving on. Besides, I bet you can't wait to show them your ring."

"I don't know who you're trying to kid, but it's not going to work on me. I know how torn up by this you are. And that's ok. I can wait to show off my ring or whatever; right now I am focussed on you."

"I'm fine! Honestly I am more than okay. In fact it is kind of a relief to finally know what happened to her. I can't tell you how many times in my head I would stare into that pool of blood that I found and imagine the _horrific_ things that they had done to her _because of me._ Now I know it was some other poor bastard who had their blood drained. I got my answers. When I went to that cafe I wanted answers and well, like it or not, I got them. So please, stop worrying, call your parents and get some bowls out for these noodles."

"You were so torn up after though, not wanting to wash the bl_"

"I was in shock Joan. The woman I had once loved was shot in front of me and bled to death in my lap. Others would be shaken up too." I would be lying to say that I am not totally over it but I wasn't before was I? At long last I have closure and I have you."

Sherlock had satisfied Joan for now, although she couldn't help but feel dubious. Nonetheless, she called her parents and a few days later the four of them met for lunch. Mr and Mrs Watson were delighted that Sherlock was showing true commitment to "their Joanie".

Mr Watson even jokingly pretended to be annoyed that Sherlock hadn't asked his permission beforehand.


	27. Chapter 27

**_I had a lot of mixed feeling about this chapter, should I do this... shouldn't I... So please let me know what you think! (Although I do love their interactions in this chapter!) I'll leave it up to my readers! TGWTK x_**

* * *

That evening Joan was sick.

"Oh God, I must have eaten a dodgy scallop or something. Did anyone else have scallops; I should call Mom and warn her..."

"No-one else had the scallops Joan. Don't worry, your Mother is safe. I guess I will _have_ to take care of you. Shall I put my nurses' uniform on?" he winked.

"Urgh, that image has made me feel even more nauseous, thanks!" she jumped out of bed to run to vomit.

"I am going to call the restaurant Joan, we paid a lot of money for them to poison you, the least they can do is do it for free."

She didn't dignify him with a response; he instead received only dry heaving as an answer.

"Gross" he muttered.

...

Sherlock managed 12 full hours of being a caring partner. After that he was itching to start a case with Gregson again. Joan noticed this of course and sent him away claiming that he was more of a hindrance to her recovery than a help.

So he left and set off for the station. When he entered he felt relief at the familiar smell of coffee and sounds of photocopiers and ringing phones.

"Sherlock, just the man I need, could you look over a case for me? We think this could be the one who took my family."

...

Staring at the bottom of the toilet bowl, Joan felt a twinge of familiarity from that of her morning sickness.

A notion dawned on her.

When was her last period? She returned to the bedroom and flipped through her diary. The trip to London a few weeks prior and Irene's death meant she hadn't made a note.

_Sherlock will know. _

Even before they were in a relationship, Sherlock knew Joan's menstrual cycle better than she did. It was annoying actually. Joan longed to call him but she knew he would be deep in a case and it would be awkward asking him on the phone. She waited until he got back and she sprinted downstairs. Sherlock was already calling up to her

"Joan! Gregson has a lead on the one who took his family_"

She interjected "Sherlock, when was my last period?"

"What? I ...about... it was about 6 weeks ago I think." The realisation dawned on Sherlock too. "Oh my- the sickness, do you think you're...you're...?"

"Maybe." Although Sherlock couldn't see it, she was exhilarated with excitement.

Sherlock's face lit up, it was almost literally glowing, his eyes shone and he scooped his arms under hers and lifted her up to kiss her lips.

"I have to know, I am going to buy a test for you right now."

"Won't they think that's a little weird in the drug store?"

"I don't care, be back soon!" and he swept out of the door.

Within twenty minutes he had returned. Joan was lying on the bathroom floor by the toilet, at first Sherlock was alarmed, but she was smiling.

"I am hot; it's cool down here on the tiles."

"I think some of my crazy has rubbed off on you. Here." He thrust the paper bag at her. "I got the one that tells you how far along you are too."

"Sherlock, please don't get your hopes up, it is probably just a combination of the stress and off – seafood.

He sighed and took the package back off her, opening it back up and thrusting the pregnancy test at her. He waited, she sat up but didn't move.

"Go on!"

"I can't pee with you watching, get out of here."

So Sherlock left the bathroom and closed the door. He stood outside anxiously, swaying on the balls of the feet as he always did in anticipation. A short moment later, Joan opened the door and he went back into the bathroom.

"It says we have to wait three minutes." Joan set the stick on the edge of the sink and closed the toilet lid, to sit down. Sherlock leaned against the wall and slid down it slowly, so he was crouching on the floor.

"In 2 minutes 45 seconds our life might change forever." Sherlock said.

"Or it might not. I could continue to vomit for the next 48 hours and then get over my food poisoning."

"Why are you being so negative about this Joan?"

"You know why Sherlock."

Of course she was referencing her miscarriage months previously. "I don't want to get excited for it to...not work out. How long has it been now?"

"2 minutes 10 seconds." The last 50 seconds was endured in silence, the couple eyeing each other nervously. After what seemed like an eternity the timer on Sherlock's watch beeped.

"I can't look" said Joan, she closed her eyes and picked up the stick and handed it to Sherlock "You look." He took the test from her but before he could look down at it she had snatched it out of his hands and turned away from him. "_Hey!"_

"I changed my mind." Exhaling slowly she looked down at the tiny digital screen.

And there was their answer.


	28. Chapter 28

"Well?" Sherlock asked nervously.

She passed him the stick: _pregnant 2-3 weeks. _

Sherlock let out a gasp and jumped with glee. He embraced her around the shoulders and showered her head with kisses. "This is actually happening Joan."

"I guess it is isn't it."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah I'm just shocked; I thought we were being careful."

"Not careful enough clearly. But don't you think that our life is finally falling into place?"

"Yes. We didn't exactly do things in the right order though."

"How so?"

"Well normally people fall in love, get married and then have a baby. We got pregnant, fell in love, and _then_ we're going to get married."

"Not completely true. I um, never told you this but, I was always in love with you. Almost from the beginning, before the night that it all started."

"Ahh sweetie. I guess I always loved you too. Or that night wouldn't have happened."

"Are we going to get married before or after the baby then?"

"Before. But I want it to be soon."

"Soon?"

" In 2 or 3 weeks time?"

"Joan, that's quite short notice."

"You could- _we _could manage though couldn't we?" she batted her eyelashes.

"I guess..."

"Oh my god it's just hit me Sherlock. I'm pregnant and we are actually going to get married. We are going to be Mr and Mrs Holmes, the nuclear family."

"Somehow I don't think we are ever going to be a nuclear family."

Joan's face suddenly fell. "I'm scared."

"I know, I am too. We will take it one step at a time and we can wait until 20 weeks to tell people if you want. Just in case."

"People will start to notice after 12 though."

"You'll have to disguise it like they do with actresses on TV."

"Billowing tops and huge handbags? I can do that."

"Have you had any thoughts about the wedding?"

"You could say that." She walked into the bedroom and searched through one of her drawers, Sherlock followed her into the bedroom. She produced a large scrapbook and handed it to him. Inside it was filled with pictures of dresses and flower arrangements. All neatly organised and labelled.

Joan said: "I think we should send out invitations as soon as possible if it is going to be soon. So that means we need to set a date and find a venue that will accommodate us at short notice. Excuse me a minute." She stood up and went to vomit again.

"If you're feeling up to it then we need to go out and find us a wedding venue."

"Can you give me a few hours?"

"Okay." He pulled back the duvet and she crawled into bed, suddenly weakened by the continuous vomiting. Sherlock gave her a kiss, and tried desperately to ignore her vomit breath.

"I have something to do, can I take your car?"

...

Gregson had a rare day off. His days spent solving crimes gave him almost no free time and now on his day off he wasn't sure what to do with it. He had the added stress of watching his family's every move, terrified that they would be taken again. Gregson was relieved that his wife had taken the kidnapping incident as well as could be expected. She didn't even resent Sherlock or ask Gregson to stop working with him. But she did ask her husband to increase the security of their family home, to reassure their daughters more than anything. A few days earlier it had been his youngest daughter's 12th birthday and she had asked to go shopping. So her daddy had begrudgingly handed over his credit card. Gregson was sat reading the newspaper when there was a knock at the door. He expected it to be Bell or another detective breaching the 'do not disturb on my day off' rule, but when he looked through the peephole and saw Sherlock, he was relieved.

"Oh hello, something I can help you with?"

"Yes, this won't take long." He exhaled and continued "Joan and I have decided to get married in a few weeks time."

"That's quick, she's not pregnant is she?!" Sherlock's face gave him away before he had chance to deny it.

"She is?! Congratulations Holmes!" he gave him a playful punch on the arm. "Don't worry, you're secret is safe with me."

"She doesn't want anyone to know, she's only a few weeks along. But I didn't come here to accidently divulge secrets."

"Go on."

"Ever since I came to New York you have been very supportive of my work. You have always trusted my judgement despite my obvious misgivings. So I was wondering if you would consider being my groomsman at the wedding."

"Of course I will." Gregson outstretched a hand and Sherlock shook it.

"Your family is invited too, if they want to come."

"They don't hold the kidnapping against you Sherlock. It wasn't your fault."

"That may be, but it was because of me. I will feel a lot safer when we find the culprit."

"Oh yes, I told you about the e-fit didn't I? I think I've got a copy somewhere..."

Gregson walked to his dining room table and sorted through some folders, pulling out the e-fit that had been made with descriptions given by Gregson's wife and daughters. It was of a man who had visited them, but was not there on the day they were rescued.

Sherlock took the picture and knew immediately the face before him.

"You know him?"

"You could say that. I had no idea he was in New York though."

"Who is he Sherlock?"

"My ex-drug dealer."

...

David Fenwick was a surprisingly easy man to find. After raids on a few known drug-dens, he was found in downtown New York.

Sherlock asked to interview him, with Gregson watching through the two-way mirror. He wasn't allowed to be a part of the case because of his family's involvement, technically as Sherlock also had a relationship to Fenwick he shouldn't have been allowed in either, but as he didn't actually work for the NYPD, he felt the rule could be overlooked. Detective Bell sat in with Sherlock. Fenwick's lawyer sat next to him, writing furiously.

"Sherlock, it's been too long. How have you been?" Fenwick asked offering a handshake that Sherlock ignored.

"A lot better than you it looks like. I had no idea you had been released from prison in the UK."

"Yeah they let me out for good behaviour, I had a great stay courtesy of Her Majesty, oh and you."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek and turned away from Fenwick.

Fenwick went on. "What happened Sherlock? We used to be so tight, next thing I know you've dobbed me into the cops for being a dealer."

"You have no evidence that it was me."

"Well I had a pretty good idea. You cut me off and go out of your way to ignore me then all of a sudden I'm arrested. That and you didn't just deny it."

"I had to do it. I had to get myself clean and you wouldn't leave me alone, hounding me at every turn to buy drugs. In the end the only solution I could see was to have you arrested through an anonymous tip-off. I thought in the long run it would be better for you too. I see you haven't left your criminal ways behind you though; following me here to New York and kidnapping a family."

"What proof have you got of that?"

Detective Bell, who was leaning against the wall watching the exchange between the two men, stepped in. "Mr Fenwick, we have three positive identifications from witnesses that place you at where the hostages were being held. Also your relationship with Mr Holmes seems to give you a motive for threatening to have him killed." He handed Fenwick a copy of the e-fit.

"Alright alright, I did it. I watched you for a while Sherlock. I saw that you were close to that police guy so I watched him for a while. Then I decided to make it interesting, an ultimatum, his family or you Sherlock!" Sherlock felt sickened that he and Joan had been watched for so long. He also felt incredibly guilty that it was indeed his fault that Gregson's family had been put through such a hideous ordeal. Fenwick's lawyer looked alarmed at his client's sudden confession and began to whisper to him but Fenwick brushed it off. "I knew that cop would never kill you and I knew you'd figure out a way to save the day. I was right. Great entertainment for me though."

"I'm struggling to believe that a small time drug-dealer would have the resources to co-ordinate such an event and even if you did, why would you risk your new found freedom?" Sherlock enquired.

"I don't take kindly to grasses Sherlock. Thought I would put the fear of God into you a bit. 'Small time drug-dealer', you clearly don't know me as well as you thought." Fenwick seemed to realise the gravity of what he said and he shut-up.

Bell stepped away from the wall and sat-down next to Sherlock. "Mr Fenwick, do you have any information regarding the murder of a woman known as Irene Adler in London, England in April of this year?"

"Nothing, never even heard of her." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and analysed every inch of Fenwick. He noticed that he scratched his nose and raised his eyebrows slightly. _He's lying. _Sherlock asked Bell to step outside.

"I know he's lying." Sherlock pleaded.

"Yeah, follow my lead." They re-entered the interview room and Bell went in for the kill.

"Mr Fenwick, if I check with the passport offices, will I find that you went to the UK in April?"

"No, I came to America as soon as I was released and haven't left since."

"And how exactly did you get in with your criminal record?"

Fenwick sighed. "I came here on a cargo ship. One of my contacts helped me in." Fenwick's lawyer looked exhausted. The charges were mounting up.

"Mr Fenwick, you are now facing charges of illegal entry into the country, kidnapping, blackmail and as Mr Holmes works for the NYPD, attempted homicide of a police officer. I suggest if you ever want to be a free man again you tell us _everything_ you know about the death of Miss Adler. Sherlock knew that Fenwick couldn't actually be charged with attempted homicide of a police officer as Sherlock didn't officially work for the NYPD and he also knew that Fenwick stood little chance of being released whether he confessed to playing a part in Irene's death or not. But Fenwick didn't know this. He seemed to weigh up his options and said finally:

"Yeah I... asked to have her killed." Fenwick's lawyer seemed to lose all functions and put his head in his hands. This case was well and truly lost.

"Go on" Bell probed.

"She put out a word on her web, saying that Sherlock was not to be touched or killed. I also don't take kindly to being told what to do. Somehow, she found out about my plans, told me to back off. I _had_ to get Sherlock back, so I arranged to have her killed. No-one was going to mess with my plans. Especially not a woman. Speaking of women, nice chick Sherlock, the dark haired one? She's hot."

Sherlock suddenly felt unreasonably angry. Not just at his comments about Joan. He was sat opposite the man who had engineered the death of his first love. Irene may have been one of the worst people on earth, but a small light still flickered in Sherlock for her. Even he wouldn't have wanted her dead.

Bell was satisfied. "Thank you Mr Fenwick, that will be all. Interview terminated at 15:03."

Sherlock and Bell left the room and Gregson greeted them. "I will sleep a lot sounder now that bastard is behind bars."

Bell and Sherlock agreed. Sherlock turned to Bell "You can't charge him with attempted homicide of a police officer can you?"

"No, but I can now charge him with murder of Miss Adler." Sherlock smiled and realised how much of an excellent Detective Bell was.

...

After relaying all the information about Fenwick to Joan, she said she felt well enough to visit a wedding venue. Sherlock drove and on the way Joan cornered him about his guest list for the wedding. "Sherlock, is your father coming to the wedding."

"I should imagine not, I'm not inviting him."

"Sherlock, I know you two don't get along exactly, but he has helped you a lot, you should at least invite him."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine, I will invite him, but I know he won't come."

"Well that's his decision isn't it. Who else would you like to invite?"

Sherlock told her about asking Gregson to be his Groomsman and she was delighted. He said that Gregson's family were coming too as well as Detective Bell. He couldn't think of anyone else that he wanted to invite.

"Don't worry Sherlock, I won't have friends of the groom/friends of the bride sides, they will all just have to mingle. The car pulled up to outside the venue. On the edge of the city the mansion sat in beautiful gardens. They looked around and Sherlock saw Joan fall in love instantly.

"I want to get married here." Sherlock gave her a squeeze and went to speak to management.

...

"I'm sorry sir, but two weekends away is just too short notice for you to get married here." Joan's eyes teared up and she looked like all the air had been let out of her. Sherlock was not worried, he had planned for this eventuality and he pulled out a large envelope.

"I don't suppose this would change things would it." The manager took the envelope and looked inside; she almost fell over with shock at the amount of money inside.

"What do you know, I think we just found an opening!"

* * *

_**Wow, a lot happened in that chapter! Only a few more chapters left I am afraid, I have enjoyed writing this story so much and all your reviews and support have been amazing. I am planning on writing an epilogue after the final few chapters too. If there is anything you want cleared up drop me a message or review and I will work it in. TGWTK**_


	29. Chapter 29

"Okay" Joan said, picking up her 'Wedding To-do' list. "We have a venue, the invitations are sent. The men have their suits, the bridesmaids have their dresses." (Joan had chosen a cousin's two young daughters to be her bridesmaids; she didn't like the politics of choosing older bridesmaids.) She slid a finger down the list muttering thoughts to herself. "The only things left really are the flowers and my dress."

"And then we're done?" Sherlock asked brightly.

"Apart from the small matter of _actually_ getting married, yes we are done." Sherlock couldn't help but crack a relieved smile. Planning a wedding, he had read, is one of the most stressful experiences one can go through, beaten only by moving house and ironically, getting divorced. Compacting this planning into a tiny two week period had only made the stress levels worse. Sherlock couldn't help but fear when Joan would get angry or upset over a tiny detail. He was especially worried for the tiny life inside her. Their previous experience had made him overly-cautious, despite his knowledge that nothing had caused the previous miscarriage. He still wanted Joan to be as serene as possible. So when she fretted over something that was to him, extremely trivial –like the colour of the table napkins, he would sit her on the floor, have her cross her legs and close her eyes and imagine the colour of the napkins (or _'insert other minor wedding problem here'_ ) in the grand scheme of the world. Or even the grand scheme of the wedding. The napkins were insignificant to him.

She was flustering again already.

"Are you sure you ordered the rings correctly, will they be here on time?" She didn't even trust him to complete the one task she had given him towards the wedding – ordering the rings that they had both agreed; those were the ones she liked.

"Yes my dear, I even had a little something added to them."

Joan was already on the warpath. "You did WHAT?! I thought we agreed on the stones and the size and the_" He placed a silencing finger on her lip.

"It's just an inscription on the inside of each ring. We'll know it's there, but no-one else will."

"Oh... that's actually very nice. What does it say?"

"It is a surprise. Just like your dress will be a surprise to me, this will be a surprise for you."

Joan pouted. She hated surprises and Sherlock knew it. "Okay, but if I don't like them, do not think I won't tell you so at the altar."

"No... you wouldn't."

"You wanna try me?"

"I have _every_ confidence that you'll like them. What time is your Mother coming over to take you dress shopping then?"

"Ten minutes I think."

"Jolly good, enough time to make myself scarce from the monster-in-law then."

"Oi. My Mother may have only warned you not to hurt me, but dear God I do not envy you if you upset or even annoy her."

"Understood loud and clear."

Mrs Watson came and she and Joan left with her to get her dress. Unbeknownst to Joan, Sherlock had already called Mrs Watson and told her that Joan could have any dress she wanted no matter the cost. He wasn't sure what it was but Joann bought out a side to Sherlock that made him want to spend all his money. He would happily sell every possession he owned including the clothes he stood up in if it made Joan smile.

Pre-Joan, Sherlock was undeniably selfish. His world was solving crimes and being flashy about it too. Now he had realised that marriage and family was about giving and sharing. Growing up his parents had been selfish, despite the wealth and the material gifts that came Sherlock's way there was no love to reinforce them. So Sherlock felt no guilt in reinforcing his love for Joan with wealth. He couldn't wait to raise a family that he would shower with love as well as possessions. Knowing that Joan would be gone a long while, he went to the cupboard and retrieved two pots of paint that he had hidden in there. He took them upstairs and covered the spare room floor with a dust sheet. This was going to be a nursery. It was on the same floor as Joan and Sherlock's room and he knew that the baby would sleep in their room for months after it was born. But he wanted it ready. He'd even secretly bought a design magazine for ideas. The walls were soon a pale-yellow colour with the exception of the feature wall, which he had decided would be either pink or blue. Clichéd yes, but he couldn't resist.

Afterwards he went to a few shops and bought essentials such as a small wardrobe and crib. His favourite purchase by far though was a rugged, off-white rocking chair that he placed under the window of the room after hauling it from Joan's car and upstairs. Only 4 swear words later he had built the flat-packed crib and wardrobe and added those too. Sherlock decided to leave the rest of the purchases up to Joan. He glanced down at the time on his phone, 17:30pm Joan would be home soon hopefully, so he warmed two microwave meals and was already eating his when she arrived back.

"How was it" he asked spritely with a mouthful of curry.

"Surprising" she replied taking off her coat and sitting down to her lukewarm curry.

"Why so?"

"Imagine my surprise when my mum starts driving to where all the upmarket boutique bridal shops are."

Sherlock played along "That is very surprising."

"I've told you before; you don't have to buy my affection Sherlock."

"What the hell, you only get married once. I just want it to be perfect. Did you get a dress?"

"I did. I can't believe you just gave my Mom one of your cards."

"Hey I trust her, I mean how much damage could two women do bridal shopping?"

She leant over the table and ruffled his hair "you poor, poor innocent man."

"I hope there is no emphasis on the 'poor' in that sentence." Joan handed his card back to him.

"You'll have to wait and see."

"Speaking of surprises, I have one for you after dinner."

"If it's your_"

"No, not _that_ sort of surprise."

"I'm done, I still feel pretty sick so I am afraid I can't finish that." She stood up and Sherlock rushed around to the other side of the table to cover her eyes with his hands.

"Uhh Sherlock?"

"Humour me."

He led her to the stairs and she cautiously ascended. A few more steps and they were in the room.

He removed his hands. Joan let out an audible gasp.

"Oh my, you did this?" She swivelled and took in the whole room.

"Yep. That wall is blank because I thought we could fill it in with a gender stereotype colour when we find out." Joan started to cry. "Do you not like it?" Sherlock asked and the worry was clear in his voice.

"No it's just so lovely."

"Are you going soft on me Watson?"

"Maybe. Aren't you worried that it's too soon."

"Nope, I know it is all going to be fine. The wedding, the baby, the...us."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He smiled reassuringly and she returned a smile. But she was soon overcome with a familiar sensation and she made a swift exit for a toilet. Sherlock followed and leant against the sink. "How many of our 'moments' are going to be punctuated by vomiting?"

"Apparently quite a few" she said gravely. Sherlock started to hum the bridal march.

_Only 3 days to go_, he thought.


	30. Chapter 30

Their day had finally arrived. It was unseasonably sunny and warm, so the window in Joan's old bedroom in her parent's house was wide open. Emily and a couple of her other friends were clucking around getting ready and whooping and giggling. A bottle of champagne had already been opened and Joan carefully dodged the awkward 'why aren't you drinking?' questions by taking a glass and chucking the contents into a plant pot on the windowsill when they were all distracted. Her mother was popping in and out between getting ready herself and she had already cried twice. Chaos reigned in the house around her but Joan felt surprisingly calm. She sat in a chair and her hairdresser added loose waves to her hair. Her aunts were in another room getting her two young bridesmaids ready and her uncles, brother and father were at the venue already in a hired room getting ready. Emily was unzipping Joan's dress bag so she could put it on before her make-up was applied.

"Joan! Is this an _actual_ Vera Wang dress?"

"Yeah" Joan replied somewhat sheepishly.

"Well, someone is a lucky ducky to be marrying a rich man." Emily winked.

"Oh Sherlock's not rich, he just wanted me to have everything on our wedding day."

"But still this must have cost THOUSANDS! Oh my GOD look at it, it's gorgeous." The hairdresser finished and Joan slipped off the robe she was wearing. Her Mother came in again and the girls all helped Joan into the dress. Finally her veil was added and Joan added a touch of makeup. A settled silence fell over the room.

Joan fidgeted nervously. "How do I look?" Joan's Mother simply burst into tears again as a response and Emily joined in.

"You look... stunning." The dress was of a fishtailed design white with a lace panel at the top covering Joan's décolletage. Lace detailing covered the dress and the fishtail at the bottom was ruched. Her veil was long and fell past her back and the only jewellery she wore was her engagement ring and a small pair or drop pearl earrings. Joan moved gracefully to a full-length mirror on the wall and looked at herself. She couldn't help but smile when she thought of Sherlock's reaction. Her eyes fell to her stomach, no sign of her pregnancy yet but she felt glad that her baby was here with her on their day too.

"The cars are here" said Emily, snapping Joan back to reality. "Ready to go?"

...

Sherlock was also at the venue with the male member's of Joan's family but him and Gregson were in another room. He thumbed the bottom of his navy suit jacket to give his hands something to do. He could only liken these agitated nerves to the feeling he used to get on a come-down from drugs.

"Sherlock, stop it, you're going to crease it." Gregson chided as he tightened his own tie and added a white flower to his button hole. Sherlock exhaled long and slow and gave Gregson a desperate look. Gregson smirked and walked over to place comforting hands on Sherlock's shoulders.

"Calm yourself down, this will all be okay. Joan has got this all sorted with her military style precision. It's just one day and then it will just be you and her forever." He added softly "with your baby too."

Forcing a smile, Sherlock took the flower that Gregson had handed him and added it to his own button hole. There was a soft knock at the room's door. Sherlock looked to Gregson to answer it but he was on the phone giving his wife directions to the venue. Slowly, he opened the door to see Mr Watson standing the other side.

"You're all ready then?" Sherlock nodded and gave his best convincing smile. He was having to do that a lot today. "I know that you and Joan will lead long and happy lives and today is the start of the rest of your lives together." Before Sherlock had time to thank him, Mr Watson started to speak again "But if you so much as make her unhappy for one second, you can expect to be in for a world of pain." He smiled and shook Sherlock's hand before walking away whistling brightly.

"Jesus, what is it with these Watsons, they are a feisty bunch." He muttered under his breath as he closed the door somewhat dumbfounded. He turned around to see Gregson had ended his conversation with his wife and was chuckling to himself.

"Did you see that Captain, he threatened me!" Sherlock jested.

"Yeah and I _fully_ support him, any trouble from you and I'll be second in line to give you a slap!"

"That's both her mother _and _her father that have threatened me now. I still think they don't trust me one hundred percent not to do anything to make Joan unhappy."

"Joan's mother? That tiny woman?" Gregson burst into loud laughter that boomed around the room. Sherlock pouted and Gregson regained his composure. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry but that's hilarious." He pulled up his suit sleeve and glanced at his watch. "It's 10:15, we had better get you downstairs to the room, not long now." Sherlock's stomach did a full 360, like a tombstoner flipping backwards off of a cliff into the sea.

He was unsurprised when he walked into the room and saw that his Dad was not present. _Mother would turn in her grave to think that git wouldn't even come to his own Son's wedding day_ he thought bitterly.

...

Unusually, Joan was alone in her bridal car with her mother. Whilst tradition dictated that her Father take her to the wedding, she wanted her Mother to be there for the final few nervous minutes before the wedding. She had decided to meet her Father outside so he could walk her down the aisle.

They rode in silence; not an uncomfortable silence but a contemplative one. It was her Mother who finally broke it.

"So, when is it due?" Joan almost choked on her own saliva.

"Wh-what?"

"The baby? You think I don't know my own daughter? I saw you sneaking off to be sick earlier and tipping your champagne into my orchid."

"I could have just been nervous sick and therefore feeling too sick to drink!"

"True. But you haven't denied it." Joan opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish. "Relax sweetie, I'm overjoyed! Finally I might get a granddaughter! Your brother has rather let the side down with his three sons!" She leant over and kissed Joan's forehead. "You will be a wonderful Mother, as will Sherlock a wonderful Father. You didn't answer my question though."

"Oh right yeah, I'm not sure I haven't had my first scan yet, I'm a few weeks along. About nine we think."

"Well at least it won't be born a bastard."

"Mom!"

"Sorry, old-fashioned values darling. You know I'm not 'down with' all this post-nuclear family business. How are you feeling?"

"Like my heart is a jackhammer trying to smash its way out of my chest."

"It will all be okay, look I can see the venue."

They both looked out of the window as they approached the driveway. Mr Watson was standing outside the mansion's large front doors, hands clasped together in his navy blue suit. The driver stopped by the doors and Mr Watson helped Mrs Watson out first. She got out and flattened her cerise dress. She gave blew Joan a kiss and went inside. Mr Watson walked around to the other side of the car and with one hand took Joan's bouquet and with the other he took her hand and helped her out of the car. He drew breath when he saw her in the open.

"Look at my little Joanosaurus all grown up on her _wedding day_."

"Daaaaad!" she cringed. "Are Emily and the girls here?"

"Yep, already inside. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely."

He handed her back her bouquet of cream roses and linked her arm. They entered the building and walked to the doors of the room where in a few minutes, she would become Mrs Joan Holmes.

The music started to play and her bridesmaids walked down the aisle to "oohs" and "aahs" of the guests.

...

Sherlock rocked nervously on his feet as he stood waiting for Joan. _What if she doesn't come? _He thought. He imagined Joan literally riding off into the sunset on a golden horse. _I am actually going out of my mind with nerves_ he stressed. _What if she has finally came to her senses and realised that she didn't want to marry an ex-drug user with a crazy home life_. The sudden music answered all his questions though and he turned to see the two bridesmaids walking down the aisle. Sherlock suddenly became self conscious, his blue suit stood out against the cream themed room. The cream flowers and cream chairs were elegant and inherently bridal but his navy suit was contemporary. It screamed "I'm different." Just at that moment he realised how incredibly stupid he was being and he turned back around to face the front of the room where the marriage officiant stood smiling in her pencil suit. Gregson turned as Joan entered with her Father. They walked slowly down the aisle and a ripple of gasps followed them, Joan's beauty emanating from her, the sun streaming through the windows only extenuating her flawlessness.

"Wait until you see her" Gregson whispered and Sherlock thought his heart might drop out of his chest and then she was there, standing next to him. Hair framing her face, makeup only enhancing her dark eyes, her body hugged by her lace dress. She beamed at him and his jaw dropped. She was perfect, she was choosing him.

Sherlock Holmes was loved.

Sherlock Holmes was in love.

"If any person here present know of any lawful impediment to this marriage then let he or she speak now." Sherlock held his breath. Silence.

The vows passed as a blur, he couldn't remember them just moments after he had said them. He stood facing Joan, mesmerised by her, looking deep into her eyes, holding her hands so tight yet still being able to feel that hers were shaking too.

"We move onto the exchanging of the rings. Mr Gregson..."

Gregson leant over and handed Sherlock Joan's ring. He had warned the officiant not to start the exchanging of rings vows straight away, he handed Joan's ring to her.

"Read the inscription" he whispered. She took the ring and spun it around in her long, dainty fingers.

"_Like that river twisting through a dusty land." _She whispered back. The words were familiar to her...

"It's a metaphor. I don't know that Duran Duran had in mind when they wrote the song but I thought it summed up our relationship. We were both walking that dusty land before we met but we were each other's river when we did."

_Of course, they were lyrics from 'Rio'_. The song that Sherlock had spun Joan around and around to on that fateful night.

"I... don't know what to say Sherlock. That is perfect." She began to cry softly and most the wedding party began to too. The rings were exchanged and the official announced

"I present to you Mr and Mrs Holmes, you may now kiss the..."

Sherlock kissed Joan before she had finished her sentence and everyone laughed and clapped. He pulled away "the start of the rest of our lives Joanie." And she took his hand and squeezed.


	31. Chapter 31

As she lay on the bed Joan couldn't help but feel nervous. Her 12-week scan had told her that all was well but she couldn't help but feel sick as she lay there waiting for the nurse to come and give her 20-week scan. She tucked her hands below her bump for comfort and Sherlock put a hand on top of her stomach. The nurse bustled into the room and Sherlock quickly too his hand off and tucked it around Joan's hand instead.

"All well in your pregnancy?" the nurse asked. Joan nodded. The nurse's accent was British, but not at all like Sherlock's.

"A Yorkshire lass all the way in America?" Sherlock asked with a grin.

"Aye, I married an American man and his work bought us both here." Joan closed her eyes and grinned, she still got that funny sensation whenever marriage was mentioned as it reminded her that she was married and it was all so _perfect. _

"Let's get this show on the road then." The nurse took up the bottle of ultrasound gel and squirted it over Joan's stomach; she tensed at the sudden cold. "It's cold I'm sorry, I usually warn my patients."

She placed the probe on Joan's stomach and an image formed on the screen. There was their baby and its tiny beating heart. Joan could feel herself welling up with relief, so she turned to face Sherlock.

"The big question then, do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

"Yes please" Sherlock replied eagerly, "we need to know what colour to paint the feature wall of the nursery." The nurse laughed and Joan rolled her eyes. After a few tense seconds the nurse looked across at them.

"It's a girl." Suddenly both Sherlock and Joan were both crying.

"And is she healthy?" Joan asked.

"Perfectly it would seem. Do you have any names planned?"

Joan looked at Sherlock and he beamed.

"Rio" they said in unison.

* * *

**_I had baby Rio's name planned pretty much from the beginning of this story!_**

**_This was the last chapter! :'( Just the epilogue to go. Feel free to message me anything you want in the epilogue. I have adored writing this story and want to thank everyone who favourited/followed/reviewed. It means so much. _**


	32. Epilogue

It was the heat of the room that made Joan stir from her sleep. Covered by a thin cotton sheet she felt sticky and hot. Instantly she noticed that Sherlock was not beside her, she couldn't feel his own body heat or the dip in the mattress that he created. She kept her eyes closed though. Somewhere to her right she heard shuffling and she peaked out of one eye to see Sherlock standing in the moonlight by their bedroom window, bed-hair scruffy on his head and his trousers scrunched by sleep. Even lying here Joan could feel the heavy burden of lack of sleep sitting on her head. It blurred her thoughts and the reason for this exhaustion was currently lying in Sherlock's arms.

He rocked baby Rio gently back and forth humming "You're gorgeous" by Babybird to her. Joan wondered if he knew the full lyrics to the song, (past the chorus) if he would still choose to sing it to his daughter.

Daughter.

There was another word that sat strangely in Joan's mind; along with "Married" and "Mother." Although she and Sherlock had been married over six months she still got that kick in her stomach whenever she saw her wedding ring or the pictures of their day around the Brownstone. Motherhood was an altogether newer experience. Rio was just a week old and already she had wrapped her Daddy around her finger. Joan practically had to fight Sherlock to stay in bed as it was "her turn" to check on her when she cried. Sherlock had won this time around though, as he hummed and rocked gazing out the window.

She gurgled in his arms as if she was about to cry.

"Shh, come now Rio, you don't want to wake your Mother up do you? She is cranky when awoken as I have learnt to my disadvantage on many an occasion."

Joan smiled to herself, enthralled to be watching this private encounter between Father and Daughter. Sherlock changed his direction of rocking and began to walk around the room humming an altogether more familiar tune. One that Joan guessed, Rio would probably grow to loathe as she got older.

"Now since we are both awake I need your opinion on a case. Do we really believe Captain Gregson? Is Gwen Osoku really guilty?" Rio gurgled. "I agree, definitely not. We need to look for the real culprit to that manuscript theft."

Joan interjected, "Aren't there child labour laws preventing children aged 7 days old from working?"

Sherlock looked panicked "We didn't mean to wake you, she just won't settle!" He looked frustrated and bedraggled and now that he was facing her, Joan could see his bloodshot eyes. "Perhaps I'll take her out for a drive in the car like last night. It is surprising how many other Fathers you encounter, blearily driving around with children strapped in the back, willing them to sleep. And whilst you know how I love our chats Rio Jay Holmes, I do wish that you would _go to sleep_." Joan held out her arms and Sherlock carefully lowered the bundle into her arms.

"Don't worry about waking me." Joan glanced across at her clock 2:34am "I've had a full hour and forty five minutes since she last woke me up." She gave a slightly manic grin and looked down at the now _sleeping_ baby. Sherlock tip-toed across the floor and slid himself into the bed with surprising stealth. Joan hooked her feet off the bed and stood up to lower the baby into her crib. As her body touched the mattress though a cry started from deep inside and was soon resonating off the walls. Joan and Sherlock groaned together. Joan picked her back up and walked to the door.

"I'll take her into the nursery and sit with her in the rocking chair."

Sherlock's face suddenly changed as if he was desperate to say something.

"What?"

"It's just, we'll be okay won't we?" he asked quickly.

This fear had seemed to come from nowhere. "Of course we'll be okay. We've survived this long haven't we! And we've certainly been through more than most couples have to go through in a lifetime. We'll be fine. All three of us."

Sherlock seemed reassured and she opened the door with one hand.

"You have one hour forty five minutes, enjoy it with you can!" she told him as she left.

And with that Mrs Holmes crossed into the nursery to tell Rio about the time her Daddy _almost_ saved her Mommy from armed kidnappers.

"We Holmes girls don't need heroes" she told her. "But secretly, we're glad we've got one..."

* * *

_**And that's it! Thank you to all who have reviewed/favourited/followed. I have enjoyed writing this story more than you know. I plan on writing a new story that is sort-of linked into this one, about Joan and Sherlock as they experience Joan's pregnancy. A series of one-shots if you will. Message me/review if you have any ideas for what you want included. Thank you all again! Until next time, TGWTK x**_


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